All around me, toppled strangers sleep like children: undefended fortresses, open mouths. There are mountains traveling beneath us, massive folds of bodies robed by snow. I could count a thousand trees, delicate fringe round the mouths of lakes; from here it is suddenly clear how many roads there are, how they lead everywhere; the slopes appear supple, endearing; the cities too, elaborate and harmless, the cars industrious as ants, the red roofs of the tiny houses, turquoise swimming pools like stones set into the jewelry of the world. I can’t see pain from here; I can’t see you, my far darling of darlings — not your need of me, not your need to be free of me. From here, I think, I can love you like water, beautiful and speechless in its tides.