Dead Orchestras

We Passengers

Remember the autumn sleep?

It was a dream on an old carriage.

It was a forest with not enough trees.

The sky was purple and the grass was black and the moon was bright.

The setting of a nightmare, at first glance.

How should I have known?

But your face, so pale and tinted by a grin

promised a breezy flight over this gravel road

that split the woods in two.

Like rag dolls, we passengers dance with every bump.

The wood was cracked, the wheels were creaky

and the sky was purple and the moon was bright.

I was laughing and cheering with the others.

I think you were laughing too.

We were side by side.

We were not together.

The choir sensed the swelling and matched our speed.

You planted a kiss, thinner than washi, on my cheek.

I was silenced by your smile, and had not realized

That the cart had stopped in time and we were flying

dissonant, but happy.