Overnight while I slept the train carrying me vanished
into the mountain tunnels and I rocked through
the smoke-filled air, safe but wishing for delivery
among the exits—that is, safe as I’d wished you’d seen me
leaving one life for another in a brilliant performance
of gold boxes tricked along a railway to California.
It was for the experience not outcome even if the man
in the metal snack closet ran out of cheese pizza
halfway through and you probably now thought of me
as a kind of annoying bird who flew suddenly
at your head and then fled into a pine forest and, I know,
it’s wrong of me to think I can anticipate your thoughts:
after all, this story was written on a laminate table
in the Observation Car while the lakes shimmered
into sandbanks of dry evergreens and the night bled
into a ...