the lonely sound of a train whistle, that is me

The single bird left behind in winter
The footprints on a deserted beach
The faded fragrance of a long dead womans room
The last spotlight on an empty stage
The lonely sound of a train whistle in the distance
That is me. That is me.

The empty air of a dead phone
The rhyme in a garbled transmission
The hiss of a forgotten phonograph
A book with its spine torn
The gritty hue of a fluorescent
The trillionth play of a tired tape
Fading in and out, drifting in and out