I speed north on the UP line
Passing everything
The early evening train is unslowed
By a white fog that rolls ashore
As from a giant block of dry ice
Above the mist
A cover of gray hides the sky
But not the sun
Perfect circle, not yellow, not orange
Gray-white, like a full moon
Which I can’t study, but for a few seconds
I look
Then look away
It’s featureless
I speed north on the UP line
Passing everything
Except the sun
It’s at my left
And, though far away
Moves with me
It’s the only thing I’m bringing home
Jim's Writing 