After the Train Crash

Crows move in. They perch quietly in the coaches looking at us from their window seats. For us it’s a strange thing to see but the crows know. They are staring, waiting patiently as if willing us to move on so that the sky can also move on and not just hang there so low, so still. We tend to the wounded and the dead. The crows peck at the cracked windows, they want the sky to come inside, and it does it begins to seep into the coaches writhing volumes of grey forming firming spaces, cloudy forms between the crows. The crows are eagerly facing forward now. The sky-formed spaces seem to wave goodbye at us as everything moves on.