The Railway iself led nowhere.
But the yellow shed was adjacent to a small town.
Always movement there, illusions of that old earth.
Grandad sat down with his son Phillip
The crates didn't creak.
Smiles were intended but didn't form.
They began counting nothing together.
Sharing that same space for long warm eternities.
The peeling paint whispered rumours of life.
The eyes of my dream were welcome to visit.
But not allowed to stay.
Nenhum comentário:
Postar um comentário