A Year of Poems – Day 256

Last night upon the midnight train
before the final whistle blew
and we went tromping through the rain
to reach a house with covered beds,
we talked by pale thinning light
as trees and towns around us flew
into imagined blurs of speed
we thought we saw but never knew;
that coach room formed a bubble then,
a place more real than towns or trees
though all it held was flesh and sound,
words and hearts together wove with time
to make a basket of memories
which is what I mean by place.


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