A boy and his train,
locomotive and caboose,
little hills of wood and tunnels.
Eyes alive with wheels and track,
turning curves, derailments,
the paraphernalia of a branch line.
He coaxes the engine around
the coffee table.
He is a sharp-eyed engineer.
He will someday see into other things.
He will see golden scallops
under the sea.
Tides in the equations of planets,
love, calling from the hard inscriptions
on ancient stone.
Solve riddles that had no answers,
because the train showed him how.
It surrounds with its toeless feet
the dimensions of his inner kingdom.
Showing him the way into the surf,
the blowing foam
of one sea,
His eyes are smiling.
His mouth sings the rumble
of the train.
Curtains are parted.
We are both children
lost in an adventure,
remarkable for what we are,
for what the train is,
as we become its passengers.