GHOST TRAIN

He would roll his eyes and contrive a sentence:

For in every village someone stood for these things;

Often dark chilly exceptionally gloomy, 

A dragon would be no match for native  serpents;

And if there were poison in the dish the silver

Would point to the strange movements of the passer-by.

For what sort of storm is raging in that part of the sky?

How is that person able to stay on his feet

Tarrying in the slaughterhouse? I wondered at this

Gazing at a closed frosted window in an old Habsburg

Railway station midway on the Brno-Vienna line,

The dusty sun’s rays pooling on the wooden floor like urine.

I still do not know whether they have solved it or whether

They are still alive. At night how can we manage?