No Freight Trains to the Galapagos

There are no freight trains to the Galapagos
An obvious point to anyone looking at a world map
Nor any way she would forgive herself
For not trying to go places
Off her frayed and tattered life map

Last night she dreamt
She was walking alone on a strange distant planet
Not Mars or Venus, a place without a name
She was looking for something, maybe even somebody
She’d misplaced a long time ago

Night fell, darkness followed
Morning came, no light appeared
In the distance, she heard a faint train whistle
As she peered into the darkness, she remembered
She had given away what she thought she’d lost

As the train whistle grew louder
The darkness slowly receded
A rusted metal sign stood before her
“Purgatory” it said
She remembered then–she had no life

Eventually We All Become the Water

For a long time, she was good
Able to carry her own water
Now, she is the water, flowing
Restlessly toward the ocean
Where it all began
And where it always ends

Life becomes a mystery
The moment we step outside
The flow creating us
The moment we wander beyond
That simple knowing point
We call the now

The water eventually claims us all
No escaping her pushing and pulling
Sweeping us in and out
Seashells on shifting beach sand
Hoping a believable answer will wash up
Washing all waiting away