Return to Dust

I saw you again on the train platform.

Your coat was pulled tightly around your body to keep out the cold.
Or maybe to trap it in.
Your lips are pursed around the end of a cigarette,
pulling in the warm smoke and letting it free again.
I watch it fill the air, food coloring dripped into a glass of water.

Your eyes track passengers and train cars as they move to and fro.

Where are they headed?
Exeter to San Francisco?
Burlington to Cambridge?
Some go farther than that, to places that have never been seen.

The tracks carve lines on the face of the earth, signs of age.
You however, don't.
You stay young, stay sad.
The barren landscape of your heart
is dotted with abandonment and dead brush.
The trains you ride run horizon to horizon,
over the dateline and back through time.

How much longer can you keep this up?
How much longer before your body gives out
and the age catches up all at once.

.and you return to dust.

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