Vienna by Moonlight 

Only less than twenty-four hours before, 
they filled the scene as celestial kin. 
The anxious train pulls into the station, 
hesitates with a humming thrill of tomorrow, 
aching as it trembles in the echos of its end, 
then, off again with a magnetism untouched. 
Wanderings in an evening, transient players 
posing as shooting stars – they were there last
night – though no marks were left, no stone etched 
littered by our desire to be remembered, daydream 
delusions, as quickly as the taste of honey pricks 
our tongue, ravaged by the inevitable break of day. 
Now, mists of seething stardust settle on the 
stone, yet know, the pull of dawn will remember 
that they were there that night.