About Hidden Things

It's the way you could no longer

hear the train on its rails

in the far off of the night

and the rain, it's the way

the rain sounded on that roof,

cooling summer.

It's the book you'd start again

each time, 'til you'd sleep.

It's the way you could sleep.

It's the way rusted iron

and old boards hid things.

It's about hidden things,

I'm pretty sure, and the way

you wanted to show somebody

the bright thing you found,

the way you were sure you could

fix it up and make it work again

and the way you thought you might.

Or,

it may be about hearing another train

at first light.

***

- Ralph Murre