There is a threshold on the path, a moment…
That I decide to run, water through the gutters,
Tripping and splattering, gushing down the cement walk,
Leaping the cracks, to disappear into the meadow.
Reaching that line in the sand, where my toes dig in.
The train whistle bellows through a crack in my window.
Its leaving that clanks and clunks, as it slams the front door.
Not me, mist over snow, no signature whistle to warn of my descent.
Photo: Wadsworth Park Middletown, CT