BART to SFO

Rocked side to side
By the rhythm of the tracks.
The window is frosted with dewy rain.

Outside the hills are shrouded in a grey haze.
The tree line disappears into mystery and magic.
Thee highway has been polished
Like an antique mirror -
Mistily reflecting headlights, facades, and trees.

The train squeals into the dark of the tunnel and erupts into light.
The train is single-minded - its destination is certain.

And though, I too, follow its path
My destination is hidden from me
Like the contents of a misty hilltop forest.