When I try to catch the name of you in my head. Pin you down dimensional. Only the pattern pouring sunshine through leaves onto the dark surface of the asphalt below the open windows of my cool morning room. Makes you momentary stick. Until the wind blows. And the trains run on rails. The way your laugh licks my ears like midnight tongues. Designs to make you up like bed sheets. The haunt of this house as I hunt you. Naked toes to metronome floors. To the all-day sounds of the trains running on rails. When you're gone. And I stalk waking hours for ways to name the name of you in my head. Distanced and waning. The way the trains do. All day long.