Subway Love

I saw her on the subway:
Lexington Line, going down
to the harbor of fog, hope
and dawn.
There timeless waves come of age
to the rusted shores, to the reason of Bridge,
to eternal reek of the fish market.

Next stop 77th Street.
Time for her to get off,
to leave only a trace
of face on the fluid screen
of the window.
Her long eyebrows,
her Mediterranean eyes
and lips, shaped by
the centuries of sensual mistral
disappear behind
the toothpaste billboard
on the platform
as opaqueness of language
between us

becomes obvious and dense,
as the apophatic nature
of the fact of our never
becoming each others’ interlocutors,
and stressed by the fact
(as far as I could recall)
that we were riding in
two different subway cars.
And I never get off
at 77th any more,
anyway.

Token Entry, April 2012

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