Blue Poem for Burnham

I saw a light coming

from down the stairs

in the kitchen.

I thought it might be you—

hungry for a late-night snack, maybe,

or just thirsty—

but there was no way to know

without going down there myself

and startling you.

So, I decided to go 

back to bed,

thinking that you would be along

shortly after.

As I sunk into the covers, 

a train passed by our the window—

wheels sailing over steel rails,

like silk over glass—

and I listened for just a moment.

It wouldn’t be unreasonable

to think that maybe you, too,

were listening to this,

while you enjoyed your late-night snack, maybe,

or your glass of water

or milk.

While we both listened,

the train gave an overwhelming

whistle which shook our bed frame.

I imagined that downstairs

those little salt and pepper shakers I bought—

the ones shaped like blue birds—

were rattling, too.

Soon enough the train had passed

into another dimension—

one where it was nothing more

than a disembodied

whisper.

I bathed in that blue silence until 

my skin deliquesced into a

delicate, velvet state of conscious.

 It would be impossible to tell

when you came back to bed,

or if you ever did

at all,

because I nodded off around then.

But that light coming from down the stairs

was still on

as that train outside the window

faded away.