I see it every night in dreams,
a bridge that vanishes in fog.
The railroad ties are rotted through.
The steel tracks are twisted by
a mighty force I do not know.
I cannot travel to the past
and bring back people I have lost.
The here and now on which I stand
is poison ivy, weeds, and stones.
The birds have flown. Sad silence reigns.
I’ve lost my way, the path is gone.
A whistle wafts through endless gray,
a ghost of childhood calling me.
Before I step into the void,
I wake up to another day.
LatinosUSA 
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