Moonlight at 2 a.m. There’s a train that is stopped
in an open field. Shards of light from a distant city
are cold as they flicker on the far horizon.
Like when a person goes into the depths of a dream
so far, they don’t ever remember they were there
once they’ve made it back to their bedroom.
Or when somebody falls into a deep sickness
and all of their days turn into flickering shards,
swarming, cold and faint off on the horizon.
The train sits there completely still. 2 a.m.
The moonlight strong. Only a few stars.