From Madridto Valencia

The clouds swung low to the ground

sweeping marauders of rain and wind

throwing dust, splashing the train windows.

That young girl beside me wanted to talk,

I could smell it on her and offered her a pillow.

The sky spat spotted mixtures of foam spray

and grass blades as we barreled across

the countryside. Silently, more silently than

I expected and I look to fill the silence.

The rain should have been louder, but double

paned glass has a way of dampening

this one of the senses in favor of our vision.

We begin to talk in broken languages

and laughing at our own stumbles.

She is younger than I expected and she is

awfully unwise for her age. Motioning for

me to come closer, she whispers something

in my ear and I pretend to understand.