All the world, the vision said, a flower and a sparrow. Tom awakes refreshed at eight, with Spring doing something finally about the time of day, like words he sees a girl read, looking through a window of the station that tired daydreams pass by, not knowing the rest that the world takes, but hoping, as though they don’t expect themselves to sprout green, like winter trees trying something else, while waiting, therefore not to deny that the train leaves with something inside, and returns fulfilled. All the world, the vision said with fruit in its mouth, loves a lover. She read it in a poem, and was taken with it. Her fear jumped before the rushing train, trying to swallow a color. Tom had fallen in love with her.