The one o’clock train is early,
hustling through a midnight town
already covered in salted hoarfrost.
Its expectant whistle drapes over the crunch of steady footsteps on frozen beds of woodchips, grass subtle as statues.
It wavers and is gone.
Beneath the half-moon,
One leaf trips across the pavement,
and dormitories blaze with a
vastly
inferior
light.
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