 |
it is good, waking up on the
train.
i do it all night, barreling across wide
flat states.
i dream vividly but can't rouse myself to
write it down.
as a consequence, all is forgotten when
light comes up.
the train stops for a smoke break
in whitefish. the usual
lounge/smoker car is missing this trip,
something about
a mudslide in everett. a few rogue flakes
flutter and fall
as we stretch our legs on the platform.
there's james, who i first met
in october '98
on this same train when i moved out west.
yesterday,
we were surprised to see him and wife nan in
king st. station;
their couchette is just one down from ours.
we eat breakfast
with a 41-year oregon fishing veteran; his
dad had done 50.
back in our room, we draw the curtain and
get naked,
just one of the many advantages of
travelling this way.
mountains, plains; horses run from the sound
of the train.
a cattle skeleton lies where it fell--why
move it?
it could be africa because i'm reading
hemingway.
i imagine myself living out here, renting
out
colorful heavy equipment all day, then
hitting
the bar. one could probably go good
and crazy without much interference.
|
|
|
