Gently Out of Sight .

Another curve far down the train tracks,
gentlly leading out of sight.
And here you are in town, in the place
you were certain was your destination.
But as you hear the wind blow off the quarry,
and the distant rumble of the train,
you feel a flutter, deep in your gut,
a pleasant feeling, so long gone
you had dismissed the possibility
you could still be called. Still be seduced
to believe there are journeys left to make.

So, you tell yourself. Just a short walk.
To the end of the curve, to see what’s there.
And yes, you hear the laughing resound through the universe.
They know this story. And if you are honest, so do you
as you take the first few steps, forgetting to say goodbye.

About this poem.

My mother used to say I was always looking so intently at what was ahead that I missed what I was living. There was some truth in that. I still tend to look ahead, but the changes in my life tend to be gentler and slower. Age? Wisdom? No idea.

But I do know there are no permanent destinations, so I better enjoy the place I am in. I might end up there.

The picture was taken down in Virginia, in Botetourt County.

Tom