Rails

Every place I have ever lived has been
Within earshot of a rail line.
Those years ago, when you and I walked down the line,
My first time in the town where I'd later explode.

Later. My own Annus Mirabilis; In his insulated cube
Of a room, stick in his grip I heard
The dull roar of metal on metal, the tracks
Running just past the high-rise. There I remembered the day
You said the tracks were connected in a different sense.
They carried spells, steel from the thunder god made their path.

Home. In my tiny, book-lined cell I lie awake
In my unsatisfactory bed, waiting for the dark air
To be stirred by the squealing brakes of the three a.m.
It's a low rumble,
The walls vibrate almost imperceptibly.
I am there, and I am every place the tracks have led me,
And the sound and the weight of those places
Sliced me in half, like being caught under the wheels
Of a speeding train,
Like a tender hand closing 'round me.