Sky brightens after last night’s rain
a slow crescendo of light through my window.
Train whistle blows over beyond and on
and on farther distant through and past
our town romantic as a thing can be
as if these are the days of train
whistles barges and ships as if
there are not cars rushing by on a highway
not so very far from here after all
as if women and men still wore hats
carried umbrellas as if we all
still danced in pairs wrote letters
with pens on paper as if this
electric clock at my elbow did not
flash red numbers telling me I must
go and do the things required by
modern life.
