That point which I can see may be the light
Of some not far off but too distant train,
Sliding across the track just in my sight
But not yet close enough that without strain
I can discern it. Or it may not be,
But I must choose a point here of belief,
And so I choose to rather say I see
Than that I fail to find the kind relief
I seek in sight. For truly, I prefer
To see a train there, even far away
Than nothingness in which my eyes place stir
Where none exists. For with a train there may
Be somewhere I can go; if not, I'm stayed
Useless on the platform, and dismayed.
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