i am a collector of trains

in the tunnel leaving penn station
a man talks on the phone somehow
despite the no signal message on my own device.
he tells someone on the other end
yes, please. haha. oh no.
will you leave something for me?
i put my forehead to the glass.
just a few days ago
while the train pulled out of the tunnel
i witnessed three railroad workers 
in their bright yellow suites.
they looked like space men from my vantage 
or maybe just like a dwindling bird species.
i looked away & back
& they were gone. there are train everywhere
when you start to notice them.
where i grew up the train tracks cut through town
like a trapeze. balancing 
we took pictures of each other 
on the rusted beams. the train seldom passed.
or, maybe it passed often 
& i didn't pay enough attention.
carts full of raw materials:
steel & coal & natural gas. 
once you live near a train it is
forever driving through your body.
in the city, we are the cargo.
the train car is stuffed.
it is 5:13 & everyone has a home
the size of a freckle in the distance.
long island is an organ 
i don't belong in. it's function
is unknown to me. the shores are
smooth. the people seem scared.
by my apartment the lines fork.
i can find the same shape in my wrist.
standing by the tracks, on several occasions
i have witnessed the metal track 
switch to guide a train far away.
there will be more trains in my life of course.
i am waiting for love--
for a shiny train to arrive right at my door.
i used to wonder why
the children on the polar express
ever wanted to return.
how are we supposed to manage our need for escape?
around here there are people
who drive to the hamptons--
who stare into the sea & clease themselves 
of trains. i do not want to be cleansed
i want to be taken. there are cities
waving their hands above their heads.
the man holds his phone call all the way through.
we return to the light.
the next station is woodside.
the man talks less now. he says
it'll happen soon. 
whatever, just tell me. 
the doors open & close 
like the valves of a heart.
maybe in another version of my life
i climbed aboard on of those passing freight trains--
maybe it clamored towards a town 
where the only light comes from the moon.
maybe there, the train arrives only 
once in a life time. maybe there
a part of me waits for its return.