We rode up into the night hills with the lines of wires written against the sky in India ink.
I fell asleep with my face against the window and breathed a heart shaped feather of fog on the cold glass. When I awoke, I drew an “X†through it and starred out of the clear lines at the snow lit mountains glowing against the indigo country. The whole world was falling apart and blurring and dripping down and I breathed again a plume of fog and drew lines and looked out and breathed and slept and listened to the train, or didn’t listen at all.
