A train to meet
The road into town is a gift
of misty valleys, glinting lakes and
over the station!’
‘What? Oh, yes’
Clouds of dark swirl together,
twisting grey to darkest black
shape of a cobra, shape of a heart
a boomerang of birds.
‘What kind? Where do they come from?’
‘Will we be late?’
So we follow the flock past houses
until it vanishes behind sandstone and tile.
‘The train now arriving…’
Later, the starlings – it’s always starlings –
have roosted and the only trace
is splatter on the car
and a wing beat in my heart.