I dreamed I was a train that never arrived

I was a freight train, steel and steam, rolling through a valley so wide it swallowed sound. No station, no track markers—just the endless curve of rails ahead. I kept checking my schedule, but the paper had no date, just a single word: 'still.' When I woke, my mouth tasted like rust. That’s what comes of sleeping near old docks—your dreams get salted.