I see a lake through the fog
This is the second time I have ever been on a train.
It is so fast, and the material is the wind as it whistles past.
It cuts through the country like a diver through water.
I feel even faster when we pass a train going the other way.
We pass a lake in the train.
In the December fog, my sight is trimmed so that I can scarcely see the water right next to us.
I can only see the reflections of bare trees.
It looks like the ground has disappeared.
I imagine the train veering off the tracks into the water.
I imagine never breathing again.
Then we go into a tunnel.
It is a black that stamps out all thought.
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