We ride the IC to Revfulop, the train hugs the marshy shore.
The lake, an inland sea, blends the haze of infinity
to its liquid sky. Hungarian 50's rock and roll on the radio:
"les twis agahn". A white heron springs from the reeds.
The fly hugs its window, wondering. A toothless woman
rolls a bread chunk in her mouth until it dissolves.
We bank a turn and the world dips a variety of colours.
Grapes in communion with the ultra violet, converting,
readying the palatial quest. Rolls of hay; field strewn symbols
of a horse's future. The hills of our city push into the horizon.