Magic bullet

There is, in the end, no magic bullet.
The train leaves the station on time
or not, depending on a number of factors,
none of them you. Snow falls
until it doesn’t, and the sun shines
through the night somewhere else.
You don’t know what you’re trying to say here
or how, except you know that it feels
like this sometimes, a groping for switches
that you know aren’t on the wall
but you have to look for them anyway,
you can’t see a damn thing in here.