Everything for a reason and nothing for a reason and everything for a reason. Clanking, clanking, and clanking of trains and also borrowed cognac and unkept promises of dislodged teeth. I hear in everything the soft burning of leaves so that the air tastes old and dry- so that it crackles. My mother leaving. My mother going away and my father holding me a little longer, tighter, softer. Grandpa holding my hand a little sadder, quieter, impossibly. They say I'll look back here. I will know this woman, but she won't know me. Then they say I'll look back at this place, and I'll know this woman, but she will not know me.