The Train Stories: The girl from the North


I dance with my cello.

It sways back and forth.

Just like the way I’d hold

The girl I met in the North.

I’d give her melodies of detail.

My fingers that jump along frets.

I gave them to her to hold.

It was the letting go I regret.

So today I use this bow.

To someday play you back.

I now write songs of white,

Instead of those I had painted black.