My eyes are tired from what I’ve seen,

What I’ve witnessed pass as if it was

Pulled like the landscape through train windows.

Unrelenting, industrious, and impossibly fast.

I’ll fall asleep just long enough to slip through

The station in your town, and wake up from

A fever dream where I count to ten on

The surface of the sun, blubbering in the heat.

You were there, with a bouquet of plastic

Flowers and an armful of umbrellas,

Cursing the wind and the days that we’ve lost.