Postcards

This morning was like postcards.

Waking and breakfast beside you.

Weaving past sidewalk trees.

That lithe dog chasing his deflating volley ball in the park.

Then the railway signals, the closing of the boom-gates -

We ran, I tripped on the large blue-metal stones,

You carried my overnight case and held out your hand;

The train horn sounded again and again

as we ran -

Parallel to the tracks and the banking train.

Running out of time

Then at the station, under wooden eaves

The driver unlocked the doors

Because he must have seen us -

Two lovers ... (just as you had said, as we walked up the grove)

... as we crossed the rails -

like a still from a movie.

Like postcards.