(C) R.L.K.
It wasn’t the first time I had stared out the window
of a train bound for the city,
while the wind whistled outside,
while the thin trees swayed,
and over the rain-soaked rooftops
a sad dawn was rising
like an old man who has lost touch with his friends,
but it was the first time in a long time
I remembered that day years ago
when we rode another train together
away from the city,
and the wind was still,
the trees were thick with white blossoms,
and the sunlight glinted off the window.
