TRACKS

Two o’clock at night: moonlight. The train has stopped

out in the middle of the field. Distant points of light from a city,

flickering coldly on the horizon.

As when a person has gone into a dream so deep

she’ll never remember she was there

when she returns to her room.

Or when someone has gone into an illness so deep

his days all become a few flickering points, a swarm,

cold and slight on the horizon.

The train stands completely still.

Two o’clock: strong moonlight, few stars.