Today we're traveling backwards
coming of trees and homes, and other people's
fences from behind seems proper.
It's been thought
and planned before we set up
for the journey. We're not caught
by surprise. Right,
we didn't know much
in advance; someone else distributed
the seat numbers
at random. As usually, we're not
in charge; customarily, we do not
complain. Silence - the shape
of no words - makes it easier
to endure
the route. Otherwise
the noise is normal: the train hums, the wind
attaches itself to the metal wheels; the tracks don't care
for the destination. Meanwhile,
the cows chew on the hay, the cats trespass
self-created mindmaps, crows make attempts
at splitting walnuts open
astray dogs cease searching for their owners
city blocks look the other way as we pass,
shut off their windows as we
approach. We do not mind
not being acknowledged, we've been used for long
to indifference, on the way we ceased praying
for divine protecion. Yes, we cope. Yes, we'll die
on the final station. Meanwhile,
everything is fine, the delay gives us
some extra time - we could use it if only we remembered
how to awe, how to
wonder
