Sometimes a harmonica sounds like a train,
a far-off train
as it passes
some lonesome landscape—
the sound of something leaving, an echo
through the window at night.
Which sounds like a heart breaking,
or the quiet wail
that escapes
when a heart breaks—
like steam through a valve
or a cry between lips
(“stay, stay”)—
when something leaves
and all you’ve got
to hold onto
is the sound of its going
and even that isn’t yours.
Even that leaves too.
Lonely Girl Travels 
I felt this piece, balidated by its tangibility, I’d like to invite you by 1markt.wordpress.com when you have a chance. This is a good work and shows considerable talent. I shall read more.
oh just beautiful
This poem is great. I look forward to reading more of your work on the glimpse project!