Lost Trains

When I was a child, I used every night
To watch (parting the curtains) the trains pass
    Like necklaces of yellow pearls
        Along the horizon

From Snaresbrook, on the far left, through Woodford
Stippled like a Christmas tree with streetlights,
    Blocks of flats, dual carriageways, to
        Buckhurst Hill on the right.

Sometimes, in summer, when the night was still,
Their regular thrum reached me like the hooves
    Of riders charged with important
        Papers. Sometimes I dreamt

I too sped through their deserted stations.
Now, at night, I watch houses from the train.
    Downstairs, the windows are yellow.
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