ON A TRAIN

Autumn passed me by in a blur
reds, gold, and brown streaked by as brush
strokes on canvass while the train chugged
on its tracks. A black mirror snaked through the forest floor
multiplied the earth and skies once and several times more.
A man stood on a field still green, being chased by his dog
my reverie was broken by a child crying out of her mother’s hold.
The sun scattered diamonds on the window pane
Too late did I mark the passing scene –
a woman sat on a bench under a flaming tree
a book on her lap,
on her mittened hands a steaming cup of coffee.
Everything disappeared, just when I saw them –
the woman, the trees, the world, and time.
Who is passing who? Is it the world or is it I?
Would that I could be in the moments gone by.

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