Right before sleep, my mind often wanders down a wayward track. 

I still haven’t figured out why,  
but the whistle of a faraway train  
sounding at night greatly comforts me,  
as I lay in bed fending off the  
impending militia of sleep. 
 
Maybe it’s because the passengers are out there,  
grappling with bone-numbing gusts  
and the Great Dark Unknown;  
which reminds me that I am the opposite of that — 
    In here.  
    Safely nooked away.  
    Accounted for. 
 
But does that mean that I derive pleasure  
from the mental and bodily distress of others?  
That my only concern is how I, alone,  
am faring? 
 
I sincerely hope not.  
 
For that is clearly not the final thought  
I want perambulating my mind, 
As sleep marches ‘round the corner  
and I gently lay down my arms.