The trains don’t stop here anymore
but I can see them passing through,
and sometimes in the winter
I step onto the tracks, into the slipstream
of one that has hurried past
to feel the warmth it leaves behind,
the scent of the people, the coffee and the oil,
listen to the sound of the wheels fading
down the valley and into the distance,
then I just stand there and let the peace
envelop me again.