Streetlamps

A pool of light in a darkened room.
The curtains drawn,
The latch turned,
One lanky lamp cowering
Above my head.
Safety.

I’m thinking of you.
I bet you guessed,
Watching tracks on the train,
Moving further away
Not even dreaming.
Fading.

It’s getting late.
I’d give hours of tomorrow,
To be the man you think of now
To turn your train around
Not knowing why you’ve come.
Hours.

Streetlamps below my window.
A thousand discrete pools,
Stretching from here to the sea.
Not alone and yet so lonely.
Remaining constant despite the passing nights.
Constant.