Whistle of a Train

Five a.m. Morning light is hours away.
My bed is warm and the train whistle
Brings a feeling of well-being.

The train, miles away, speaks to me.
Its singular note evokes
A child’s figure 8 journey
In the living room of a Brooklyn apartment.

I recall the small circles.
It must have quickly grown tiresome.
Yet now, a lifetime later, that sounding whistle
Awakens a sense of Sunday morning,
When my world could be held together
By a fantasy trip to a magical place.