Every night I wait for the train’s
animal arrival, its keening horn’s
lock with air. The sound
holds you down, the speed
pockets you here, the thrumming tracks
now and the whistle aches
for more. What a statue you are
next to it--at a distance a soldier
home from whatever war, nearer the lover
I never meant to hand my life to.
Your swayback fingers work the buttons
of my blouse. A lung in me
sings coal. I return and return
to your train, your travails.
I take the diamond you pass me
hand to mouth. Another and another.
I am no glass house. I am yours
for however long and whatever for.