early morning train

 

slid the window open after three
dreamed clouds again until five-thirty
when, from long beyond
i heard the whistle say - i am train

calling low in light rain,
sweet voice, milk and thunder
clawing on wings of steel,
lonely is the night, strong, sure

swinging through, blasting,
rolling heavy on quick-wheel feet
powering around, long through, then out of town,
murmur lonely; cutting night stillness, like blades on ice

iron maiden go, into first morning light
familiar friend, shaking windows with your power,
i smiled, low in bed, covered my head
slept another hour.

     this is the third time i've published this poem; 

     i like it and i'm working on it.