“Dada,” she cries, then cries, begging him back

From the driver’s seat of his car in park,

And still he stands upon the railroad track.

She hears silence and crickets, fears his lack,

Sees dancing dot of sun in blinding dark;

“Dada,” she cries, then cries, begging him back.

He fears his flight, hears her cry as attack,

Sights his drifting embers describe an arc,

And still he stands upon the railroad track.

While pulling another blaze from the pack,

He feels what’s right, this light, and him are stark;

“Dada,” she cries, then cries, begging him back.

While leaning from the window into black,

She feels bright hope turn to unlikely lark,

And still he stands upon the railroad track.

Rumbling and horn anticipate the crack

And long, ink-stained night waits to hide the mark;

“Dada,” she cries, then cries, begging him back,

And still he stands upon the railroad track.

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