When the train came, I cried

I walk with the ghosts who walk on the beach.

I photograph the rails,
       the security cameras, the grey sea,
       the mansions on the hillside.

I touch the stone walls,
       sit on the steps, breathe the air,
       read the graffiti.

I climb the hill and look at the view.

I stand at the gates,
       peer at the carvings, record the leaves
       and branches, the signs.

Half the world from here and just under
my skin
Thousands of miles in a breath, in a word
Thousands of steps in a sigh, in a song

I buy a ticket and wait for a train.

There are names for everything but you
have no name
for this.

(First published in Pixel Papers)

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