Where the Train Meets the Sun
It’s six thirty at
Sacramento Station, ghost
Misty rice fields sleep.
I touch your tired eyes across the gently rumpled sheets of the delta, the horizon and
coast shrouded in a negligee of morning fog with ranks of slumbering breasts between us.
Morning pauses, we
Clatter across, cocooned,
Breakfasts warm and quick.
I brush your unshaven cheek as you jostle beyond Vacaville and toward Martinez.
Sitting still through still hushed conversations and sleepily matted hair.
The Pacific is
Sky dynamic, green,
Blue, white, gossamer.
I stroke your hair as you unsteadily make your way down the haltingly pulsating aisle.
To the right, the mirror ocean reflects me to China, while for you the soft hills are a
memory, the warm Sacramento Valley left you drained, but even now Salinas and
San Luis Obispo are a dream of desire to be wakened.
Marc Janssen has been writing poems since around 1980. Some people would say that was a long time but not a dinosaur. Early decrepitude has not slowed him down much; his verse can be found scattered around the world in places like Pinyon, Slant, Cirque Journal, Off the Coast and Poetry Salzburg also in his book November Reconsidered. Janssen coordinates the Salem Poetry Project- a weekly reading, the occasionally occurring Salem Poetry Festival, and was a nominee for Oregon Poet Laureate. For more information visit, marcjanssenpoet.com.
