so slowly the days go now,
all i see are images, like projections
on the side of a fast train
that someone else is on.
each car a frame, and the soundtrack
the running of metal on metal,
the squeaking of the track:
like some old home movie,
slightly yellowed with age and love.

the first sweet kiss,
at night in a high school parking lot;
the dreaming, taking over years
and long mornings at work;
the finality of 14 karat love!
bubbles blown as we run down the church steps;
exhausted but smiling for a newborn boy;
a toddler grasping the edges of a table for balance;
spelling tests with stickers on the fridge.

each car a flash of color,
and the deepening sobriety of love:
the film peels up at the edges,
the colors fade a little around the faces,
and the train just keeps running.
even if all i get to do right now
is watch, even if we are still in the middle
of the years of dreaming:
the images are enough, the dreaming
is enough to keep me sated.
someday, we'll buy tickets for a faraway town
and wait for the train to pull up to the station
belching steam and passengers.
we'll have the car to ourselves,
blue seats and wide windows,
and we'll watch the wheat fly past,
and the barley, and the barking dogs held by
tiny stationary people.