are we a mere stand-in
for our dreams, or a thing
to be built upon?
I wonder at the construct-
is it
a filigree of new steel
or old rusty iron
how strong the
bridge across the abyss?

and of my own dreams,
railways I follow
how much a part of them
is she now? indelible ink
on a map drawn within

not always sure of which track
but I know her in many ways
and so reality- what
is it? something I approach slow
with wary eye, pausing at crossroads

I dream too, and hope glows
brings her near my heart
a headlight to follow
it keeps away night despair

But, when we are apart,
too long in the cold,
the view grows foggy,
ice forms, and hangs heavy
pulling on the bridge
and underneath I am aware
of thinning roadbed,
rents, washed-out rails

so we must never forget
those precious days spent as one
the memories are imperatives
keeping us on track

and next? we can't know-
what switches will be thrown
life drags us about, tossing
off baggage, tearing at our
resolve
words may seem inadequate

but her voice I hear- a train whistle,
a lonesome yet reassuring sound
echoing through the night
heat is there, too- forging a strong alloy
on which the bridge may be rebuilt,
in a new design
stronger to bear the weight,
with a guidepost for my heart

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