Five Cities

Cumberland
the town where I was born
where the train used to come
and the factories puffed bright smoke
into the glittery day
now on the downslide
of a mountain too high to reclimb

Rolla
the town where I live now
where every night outside my window
the train passes by half a dozen times
but has never quite stopped
and probably never will

New York
the town where I've gone
where trains come and go
home to half-cast dreams, desires, angels,
and might-have-been-but-wasn't's
a story for each light
waiting for me to tell them

Chicago
the town where I might go
home to trains and planes and shoes
art, life, music, fantasy, hope,
and a thousand possibilities
and one
if I just follow that passing train

but Cumberland is only a memory
silvered by smoky time
and New York is a distant idyll
glimmering from its lofty peaks
and Chicago is uncatchable
golden dust through my fingers
Rolla is the reality
Stone solid

and still ... and *still*
I pause in my travels, stall in my flight
to glance ever backwards to the distant hills
of Rome.

11-22-96