Pulling away from the station,
the windows of light look like pearls 
in a dim cave. Oblivion 
picks up speed, the darkness pierced 
only by the reassurance of movement. 
Onboard, a moth is exultant 
in fluorescent light. I think 
about all the flying creatures 
who've hitched a ride, beating wings
against air recycled, air compressed,
air sucked underground
and into a tunnel, air levitating 
by magnetic force, their light bodies
hurtling a hundred kilometers an hour,
and when the timing's just right, 
emerge into new fauna. Unfurl 
their wings in unfamiliar climate, 
learn their prey from predators, 
come to brace their light bodies 
with new kinds of kinfolk.
I am an optimist, and like all silent
flitting things, I search for
light in the darkness.