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.
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!