In a box carriage, a glass marries me to one-way streets, floating backwards in these dreams I wish to speak.
But I mumble in sleep, eyes closed, mouth open roped into my seat. My feet tingling from the motion of my mind, I find a black space around me in the form of scenery. The greenery no longer bright in dark night. Sounding out into an evening of empty howls, the calls of wild owls hovering alone, watching those prowled upon by the worn claws of winter’s gasps and scowls.
Seizing warmth from the odd spectators wishing but a little place on long benches, now finding solace in the passing by of frozen trenches, in search of a relaxation comfortable as the wool of sheep on a winter day. The colors necessary to fill the artless and put an end to seasonal darkness are close by.
Lights flicker in the carriage, my cold seat at last defeated by touches of heat, putting an end to the months long marriage to wintry sleep.