Paris To Berlin By Train

We departed at dawn from the Gare de l’Est
A pale dawn of pink clouds and lofty vapour trails

Soon we were cutting through squared fields
Woods and postcard villages
Every house identical
Colour co-ordinated
Sentimental

Rolling by it was easy to watch
Like Barry Lyndon or Tess
The view itself oblivious to the silver track
That dissects and defines it
A picture window that frames itself out

As the hours accumulated forests and hamlets
Paris receded like a loved summer coat
Hung at the back of the closet
In the cool of autumn
By the time we reached the frontier
It was almost forgotten

How natural that felt compared to a plane
That enclosed tube of films and food
We enter one end and leave the other
With nothing to mark the transition
But time and sky
A no-man’s land where we armchair and read
As though at home
No wonder it takes days to recover

By the time we arrived at the Hauptbahnhof
Late in the afternoon
I knew precisely where we were
Exactly how far we’d come