His head’s a secret train-set in the attic:
quiet, straightforward, always summer.

The cattle in their fields of baize,
the postman on his bike,

the green sponge trees
by the papier-mâché tunnel, the children

forever waving their stiff handkerchiefs
at the trains that are always on time.

Copyright © 2022 by Robin Robertson. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on April 4, 2022, by the Academy of American Poets.