Freight Train to Morning

Full moon through the birch trees
just shy of six a.m.
thinking, once again
who I really am,
Womb of morning coffee
clear sky overhead
does there come a time
when it’s all done and said?

I guess we never know
until the day arrives
we read the last stanza
of our short poetic lives,
Wake the final morning
the jury, judge and rope
hoping for a pardon
but having little hope,

I watch the moon set
stand naked on the ground
morning freight train hollers
its level-crossing sound,
Poet in the caboose
thinking parallel thoughts
watching the same stars
connecting the same dots,

Someone I enjoy
in her hat and Carhartt pants
The freight train to morning
our on and off romance,
We’ll meet for a late breakfast
read each other’s scrawl
then amble to the boarding house
to her room, at the end of the hall,