We stare at the spinning tires of the empty train, ignoring the dark passing in front of our eyes. Clackclack, it looks like another tire has fallen off the train and is rolling off to the empty landscape (all the cows once out there on the range, past visibility, long ago turned into hamburger, or just waste).     I followed it into the darkness, past the Vengeance sign, to the graveyard, where words were born.