The Trolleycar

The clang of a bell drowns our heads.

We glide

on steel as if on air,

always moving toward a home, a place

we have been going back to for years.

Some think they are alone, their voices

left behind as they traded four empty walls

for the empty space of four others.

There is a sound like a firecracker-

a shower of sparks cascades over us;

blue smoke trails float to the ground.

We have jumped the wire again.

We resume the thread of our thoughts

and buildings, trees, a world moves past.

Soon the houses begin to withdraw

from one another:

we approach

the outskirts of the city.

A breeze rises from the fields.

Few people remain inside;

the roof grates against the walls

as if it were waiting for the wind

to lift it loose.

It grows darker;

a wide cloud of rain sweeps toward us

and soon we hear it beating over our heads.

A few birds fly inside for shelter

but even they abandon us;

nothing is left to fill us but darkness

and,

later,

reflections of the moon

as it washes our walls thin.

Other rooms in the night are closed,

their curtains drawn, their doors shut.

The ceilings

arch overhead as if those inside thought

they were alone, locked inside their

dark walls forever and invisible.

They are asleep, and cannot see

the trolleycar as it moves in the dreams

they are having.

It glides through their shadows,

past the houses and trees,

into the night

and is gone. They stir in their sleep,

slowly beginning to wake.