The train from Barcelona has arrived:
if you look through the window, you can see its sleek
but obvious outlines
It stands there openly
We will be leaving soon:
we will be on our way, and later
after the scenery flies by,
we will arrive
and the weather will be different
They are building more flats by the railway,
and the buffet car has run out of milk:
it is not like English trains
It is a high-speed train, and it
moves quickly
What seems to be happening
is surely happening
and will probably happen again
If it does, we will tell you
In the tunnels it is dark:
outside, the sun casts shadows
And if something else is happening
that we cannot see
we do not speak about it
even if it seizes us by the throat
and shakes us till we scream
Is joy or terror passing by?
Is there an eagle in the mist
or a serpent in the falling rain?
No-one knows
Now we are nearly at Narbonne,
and most of us are asleep
It is normal:
it is what happens