The train shows how we changed the world since then
but do you care much, hidden in your book?
You travel best without having to look
at landscapes being filled with filth of men.
I notice that you lick your lips at times
and watch you smile because of prose you read.
Then there’s a second, where our eyes do meet.
You speak. “I don’t like poetry that rhymes,”
you say. “Do you?” and I search in my mind
to find an answer that is true yet kind
as you have eyes that make me love this train.
“I do at times,” I say, then you read on.
The splendor of the moment now is gone,
the world has changed some more and we have rain.