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.