Heat-wrapped and hit semi-conscious on a late week morning,
snow icing the highs of the verge and
the dawn candescent below a film of purple cloud:
comatose we sit,
eyes stinging and noses dripping,
hands ungloved, glasses cleaned, scarves dumped and tissues pulped,
snapping our fingers one by one,
the carriage an array of trunks held firm and upright
as we nod lightly with the motion,
the air unrelenting, powerfully narcotic and
drowning us silently before the day.