I’ll walk along the tracks,

thinking, following

the thread of the running rails

across the yellow sky, the scarlet sky.

I’ll go to the gloomy

station, shivering—

if the watchmen don’t shout

and chase me off.

And later, determined to remember,

I’ll think—again, again—

of the beautiful lady, and how she looked up,

quickly, as she got into the train.

Proud, distant:

Why should she care if I love her?

But when will I ever see

another lady with eyes so blue!

I’ll tell my friend,

I’ll tease him, a little,

when evening spreads smoke

across the meadow.

And with an ugly smile

he’ll say, “You see?

You read all kinds of junk

and you start to talk like that.”