i was in the bed of a truck, surrounded by the immigrants to this great land of life.
outside the truck, a gripping sunset silhouetted a million buffalos merging and peeling away from each other like a soul river. cowboys and indians on horseback tried their best to keep the herd together, and away from the road. the sunlight backlighting them wasn’t sunlight, but the perfect light of heaven.
i rode the truck, and stood next to a boy. he told me i’d meet his mother soon, in germany. the truck drove straight north towards the border, and we all looked straight west at the perfect, immortal sunset past the buffaloes.
behind me, parallel to the road, a modern train, all steel and glass windows, chugged smooth north.
i focused on the gorgeous buffalo and all the cowboys and indians like living spirits of the amon g. carter collection.
then, i woke up alone.
sometimes i believe my dreams, sometimes i don’t.