Hopping a Freight Train in Wheeling

The freight train puffs a veil of smoke into the night. The iron rails rumble. Be still. Now. There it is, the engine's call, fading To the distance. Between shadows, a lean figure grips tight to the rolling steel, His pack worn low on his back, and now he's gone Wholly, into the night. I stand alone by the coal yard, I do not dare speak Or move. I listen. The train bends away into its own darkness, And I lean toward mine.