The insidious timepiece of undefined stories
transparent clouds of hope
The shimmering hands of daylight
reach in the windows.
There was a lunch counter here
a shoe shine booth there
the smell of cherry blend tobacco
wafting down the corridor to the
staircases rising to the platforms
the crush of people on their way to somewhere.
on the Denver Zephyr, the vista dome
awaiting white table cloths and crystal,
the country floating by like pictures
in an Impressionist exhibit.
Now the station, an empty lifeless museum
of former times. No newspaper guys yelling headlines
No one to wait in their hats and travel clothes
for the trains that come no more.