Night calling by Harry Calhoun

Train horn wrapping gently around the ears,
moody, yearning and dark, crowding softly
over the eyes and passing through the nostrils

past the borders of simple awareness,
as if it has become part of the soul,
a soul filled with soft midnight sound,

and the clack of the train behind it
the last sweet knock of sentience
between now and our blessed sleep.

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