Third train since 5am. The first one’s call
was loud and cracked the ice of night, the horn
a warning and an omen too that all
for which we don’t yet have a name is born
and on its way. We’re caught between the now
and then, and though the world is frozen cold
Time ticks its endless round through every how
and why and if, the questions that are old
as eyes that first saw weather change and knew
before words told the news that this is all
there is. We hunkered down near fire, lips blue
from cold, and huddled close before the fall
of day to stars, those silvered and indifferent lights
that glowed throughout the long and brutal nights.
by Ed Hack
Editor’s Note: This sonnet reminds the reader that humans are both mortal and fragile despite the seeming inevitability of each new train.