It fields it minds the way track ramble and rush of air the mass the weight hurled through dark we watched without words the field under us alive the mind wakened.
We watched a freight train ramble through the moonlit night. You held my hand, your head on my shoulder. We leaned against the railroad ties with the smell of creosote and the rich dirt smell of fields after rain.
One thing leads to another. The fat cat crawls onto the couch. You curl up on the floor. In the viewfinder railroad tracks a bright moonlit evening upstate New York. Not here where you're curled up on the floor eye to eye with a lazy cat on our friend's couch late afternoon back from protesting in DC but a rural stretch of field and woods upstate New York where hundreds of wooden railroad ties are stacked and sticky with creosote black and syrupy. That was there then in the viewfinder it's here now on this screen. The way some moments fracture time and the timeless floods washes over an incoming wave it rushes in and recedes the fracture heals and we're back in the barren world.