Trains that run away

For the morning or the light,
designed to play with matches
over your timber soul

these trains are curling microscopes
a quarter past 1 a.m., chaffed like the fog morning
breathing all held in as though stale

with chandelier crest markets betting on rest
plead with the entry to the dust covered door,
a wedding behind it, at a table, secure

take hands with the one who stole your song,
take him in your heart and run away
where the lakes do not drain the type of day