Seam

En Route to Bangladesh, Another Crisis of Faith

64 En Route to Bangladesh, Another Crisis of Faith We pass over heavy shadows of large clouds pinned to train cars lined up like unused blocks of colored chalk—red then green, blue then orange—until we are propelled higher, and the trains are swallowed by these jagged strictures of land that are no longer sand nor rock nor water, but a child’s drawing instead—until the distant ocean is the only fabric that fills this punchedout plastic hole of a window—that is the blue that falls over everything, that is everything—blue on blue on blue—like the one seam of light left always on the airplane ceiling that the pale, plastic shades cannot shut away— until that narrow vein of light is the only belief left, a cream-thick ribbon across our eyes— ...