Sitting next to strangers who fall asleep by me for no reason. Trusting rhythm. An odd intimacy, train trips. (idea)

Train tracks run through my town,
through my life.

Late night tremors for as long as I can recall.
A low whistle that I will go months without noticing,
then enjoy with a half smile and eyes closed.

Now I travel inside the ghost,
through farmland and city streets.
I am struck by how the movement affects the riders.

Some, when pushed against each other
as the cars rock from side to side
become acquaintances, discussing train memories.

Others fall fast asleep mid-trip; rocked into dreams.