STATION

A bicycle, boned and broken
lies still on the forgotten track,
past service. Unspoken,
thoughts shunt back.

The platform weeds and flowers
stand now in place
of passengers, but face
no regiment of hours.
In the dark and silent grass
the sleepers sleep, not even found
for firewood. No sound
unearths this place
where once there was a ring
of shouts and slamming doors.
You feel the silence cling.
You pause.

Along this useless track
where once the glad arrivals mixed
with sad departures, and fixed
a moment of elation or despair,
there is no going back.

Such moments now are neither here nor there.