I can hear it moving through the night,
Wheels on tracks on dirt still warm,
A straight line west through two more valleys
And a slow turn north, then two full days
Beyond the border, into Canada.

Here the air is colorless, but filled
With other things: coyote in a trap
Far away, now silenced by the train,
Aroma of sage released by dew
And dew itself, cool on cool bodies

About to rest, as the train will rest
In another country, the coyote dead,
Sagebrush burning in the summer sun.
That same sun will wake us soon,
Before we are ready, without a sound.

We do not move but know the earth does,
Through black and silent space, describing
An ellipse again and again. We do not speak
And fall slowly to sleep, perfectly still,
Stars burning and falling over our heads.