NIGHT TRAIN
The train passed by the bricklayer’s shop at midnight;
The houses retained the train’s pulse on their walls and
the window panes;
frightened or surprised they went to sleep
and forgot all about it.
Him, he didn’t sleep all night long. The train had passed
through his veins
with what it brought with what it took. And he waited,
in his mind,
to hear the train’s last whistle coming from the fields,
from behind the trees.
Manolis 