The Station Master I promised you I would come again but it takes so long for the light to fade these last slow days of summer. I think of you, standing at the platform edge in your red jacket, your paddle held aloft, the whistle slack between your lips. You like to watch the night come in from one platform to the other, the station fades from yellow brick to washed-out grey each train pushing light along the track, but not enough to hold the darkness back. Kim Moore iii. iv. |