Trains

Red wagons scuttle by every now and then
Heading for places on the other side of day,
Wavering like a leaf in their storm,
I would jump with my hands highest
above my head,piercing the trembling air
trembling with fear of my reach
With each passing of the day into nights
Those places rose with cold hands,
pushed me to the tracks again,
My train may have run its last
I hear only echoes of  last night on the tracks,
They keep running in dazzling places