Someday the trains will grow quiet. I know you think about home, more these days than you used to You stumble over the precipice, the threshold blurs in your vision and you begin to mistake each Tuesday afternoon for Judgement Day somehow, at a crossroads, you recall the nights you spent without the cold fear of a day with no magnolias, without knowing how the dance finishes you learn to start the steps anyway. With every generation in your recent calls you realize this cannot be heaven, and someone yells out there’s not enough Motown on this queue so the DJ springs into action like the cucumber plant back again like junebugs like tomorrow gives birth to tomorrow again and yesterday the trains still woke us up for work and the Blue Ridges still stun us into silence and all along I’ve taken more moments than I can count just to look at you
