• They board the train with their heads down.
    They meticulously skirt feet but bump shoulders chummily.
    When the wheels clatter on the track, they cross their legs
    and dim their eyes. The lights flicker in time to the mechanical swaying
    sending the last dregs of dream sloshing against their skulls
    in comical tandem.

    An unaging night presses against the windows, its lightbulb studs
    twinkle a melody; the heat of still bodies gathers like a fog
    and make the handholds sweat.

    The car is a world flying through space,
    a womb of a mother trundling along,
    a faux-life, a preparation for when the doors open,
    a lullaby before the true darkness of sleep.