Green and blue joined
By red cabins
Against them both.

Skies and fields.
She yawns under my
Hand on the train.

Outside the other window,
The ancient snake of silver
River; no longer the

Highway, as in old
Days rich with
Boats and flotsam.

I cannot see a cloud.

She's a cat in the sun through
Glass; stretching, slight little
Clicks of joints and bones.

Leans her head
On my shoulder. Smells of
Shampoo and Summer-

Skin.
Is gone.

There are woods yet that
We're in.
Paths perhaps in shadows

We must walk
To get out,
Together. Still,

I cannot see a cloud.