I'll never forget us entraining this freight at dusklight to escape cabbage farms, rusted barns, and Bible-barkers who stumble through starrified nights.                                              Will our fear follow us? We poach peaches off pallets and lick juicedrips off our lips, like it's all we know, on the road to salvation— me, carving a heart into the wood and you, a miracle in the moonshine, grabbing hold of my trembling hand like maybe we're something holy.