Night Whistle

Down by the river, a train burdens itself with the melancholy wishes of insomniacs. Empty of coal, heading back toward the mountains, it moves along the rails, its horn calling the night thoughts of the city to tumble into its hollow cars.

Along the dark passageway of the tracks, farther west where the trees are bigger, the grit-crust shakes loose from the coal cars and leaves a black trail. By morning, it has blown back to the city.