this train

sixty kilometers/hour
I ride this iron, these
silvery tracks that span a continent

electric wires, a swift noise,
whir, click, relax
I hover low in a sleeper car
tucked on the bottom bunk

places I have never been
places with red roofs,
broken castles
and pointed-arch cathedrals

mountains jut into the stars
the canals stink of waste
and I watch you out the
window

this tiny glassed-in room
in a high-backed,
padded seat, waiting for the trainman
to open the door
and stamp my passport

I watch you in your room,
snorting coke like you used to do
I see us in your bed
tangled
turning
I keep riding, through every country, every moment

The trainman turns to leave,
and I have to shut the
curtains just to see my way back into the hour.