Nightscape

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[I am deep in the night’s little hours. 3:30ish. I default to sleep strategy 4,682. As I listen to my Naturescapes sound collection, I task myself with at least the opening line of a related poem. Tonight’s soundscape is the rumble of a train. Tonight’s poem I call Nightscape. Sleep well.]

I sometimes come to wonder

In the darkness of the night

How sound can paint a picture

Without benefit of light?

A freight train’s lonesome whistle

And the clatter of the rails

Drafts a clear horizon

Where painters’ efforts pale.

The empty fields rush through my mind,

As the rattle and the roar

Sweep all the world before them,

Places here, and then no more.

Perhaps a ghostly farm appears,

Caught by the passing train,

But on the lonely whistle moans

Through sheets of driving rain.

Then flashing images are smeared

Cross rocking window panes

Dancing to the thunder’s roar

As the mighty engines strain.

Yet all this bright creation

Within my conscience rose,

And truly was experienced

With eyes quite firmly closed.

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