Transit

From this watery gaze above the metro
I recall moments that befell minutes ago.
How in an instant I lost you
in an exchange usually ending with you
clutching my arm, I accommodating
the bag you carry, the heaving of your chest.

Today, we abandoned the city’s way of uniting us:
every afternoon meeting at the station
where people hustle on their way home heedless
they might trip on their steps or lose
something valuable in the process.
Like us engaged in argument.

And we were home every time we touched,
palm on palm, while waiting for lights
to whiten our faces in the dim stretch of the subway.
Now you are straight-sure as this locomotive:
The only destinations we reach are ends,
and back again, you say.

The rolling of metal wheels is in haste
yet the world outside seems taunting still.
You are in the next train yet I seek you
in every stop, every scene seen through blurred glass.

This journey we have taken
may not see an arrival anytime
soon, the whirring of this train becoming
a hundred small wheels spinning on my spine.