Aligarh

At the railway station I ask

if there’s a train to where you are.

I’m told there is one but it’s left already,

so has tomorrow’s and the day after’s.

Somewhere in the trees, painted in

degrees of green, the morning

paint still wet, a magpie robin sets up its

musical kit. You hear it in your garden,

I in mine. At night, like a colicky child,

our old bones tired, desire keeps us awake.

Put it to sleep if you can, I’ll do

the same, and for now let’s forget

the railway station. Parking’s not easy there,

the trains keep to no time.