The Station

In a certain city of white tenements
and wind lashed blue banners I stand waiting
for a train in an empty station, the wind
sending scraps of paper tumbling down

the tracks; archives of lists, directions to..,
time tables, sacred texts scrawled on napkins.
In a certain city of white, tenements
and wind lashed blue banners I stand waiting

for a train and unexpectedly I think
of you which causes me to sway gently
as if bumped in line by an impatient passenger
and you hurry on and sit next to the window-

you now gaze out silently from my eyes
till the next to last station where you
exit with the other memories that have
their appointments and performances to attend.

On a different day in and a certain city of white,
tenements and slacked blue banners I stand waiting
for a train, in an empty station.

I think of a different day and remember us
which causes the platform to sways gently.

Suddenly I am aware of the beating of my heart.

 

 

 

 

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