I woke in the fields.
The fields I have never seen.
The fields black beneath the white sun.

Limbs emerge from snow.
Snow scatters into the wind.
Wind twists the clouds around me.

From the horizon a train nears.
The horizon shakes and fractures.
The fractured fragments cover my mind.

I was not yet ready to awaken.

I followed the train tracks
westward – the land flattened
before heading deep into the
mountains – I see them from
the boxcar.

I jumped into this one
outside of Carson City
just before midnight –
running from behind
an abandoned shack,
the slow roll of the train.

Where is the Train?
Where is the Train?