Art by Lauren Luchs

1.

Beneath me, iron wheels gallop in rhythm, 

remnant of horseshoes on ribbons of steel. 

The click and clack carries the morning tide 

surging onto Flinders’ metropolitan shores.

We arrive here seven minutes apart. 

The span between each departure and arrival 

breaks the ocean into snow-frosted hills.

We are united by some common purpose, 

strong enough to leave the comfort of a home. 

Silently, we hold our intentions in satin ties, 

marmalade skirts and Swiss backpacks.

For now, we sit somewhere between two dots 

in the irrelevant abyss of a world seen in transit. 

Our hearts are not big enough to nurture roots 

in every direction that our compass points. 

We must choose these two points wisely; 

the loci of our elliptical lives.

2. 

A spectacled woman sits across from me 

without a word spoken that might excavate 

the sediment of her story.

The wrinkles of her skin are surely wisdoms 

learned from the pains and joys of this world. 

The woman’s hair of ashen grey 

lies on the highway between youth and snow; 

a colour steeped in the art of life.

In this train, fifty lives touch tangentially,  

compacting fifty stories into an unspoken silence.  

For now, we sit in each other’s company,  

blissfully unaware of the giants in the room.

3. 

When the carriage jolts or sways, 

the yellow handles synchronise 

to the common rhythm of our lives. 

When we step off at platform thirteen,  

the yellow handles will continue 

to wave; 

approaching the asymptote of silence,  

long after we are gone.