Sometimes, at night,
the Belgrave Lilydale line
sang a dark commuting lullaby;
soft metal murmuring
from Box Hill to Laburnum,
amplifying through the cemetery,
looking to be heard;
awake in the sleeping house,
not naming the consolation I felt,
my first taste of the blues:
the ordinary music of departure.
I like this one.
ReplyDeleteI am seeing it and hearing it.
Thanks Dave.
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