From the train I can see miles of Pines,
they seem to go on forever.
There’s a golden wolf howling,
chanting to the midnight Gods.
By morning the Pines give way
to Palm trees and screeching Cicadas.
Tonight the stars reveal the belly
of the world from which we come.
What I have left is a photograph.
Tell me night-time dreamer
why you hold so many secrets
in your heart.
When I look into your eyes all I see is star dust.