I got myself to the end of the train
and watched the tracks curve along the coast:
Camogli, Recco, Sori, Nervi.…
A collector’s set of silver knives.
Summer time, the windows open.
I watched the rocks fragment along the coast,
I watched the vanishing tunnels, well, vanish.
White petals drifted across the tracks.
I’ve always wanted to travel like this:
watching last things from the end of a train,
the train rocking against the coast like love
the sea not glass but a carpet of sleep.
I lay down in the drugged aisles
buffeted by coastal wind and blue curtains
which flapped and flapped and flapped.
I almost relaxed, waiting for the train to break into the city.