“Just hang on there”
she murmured to the porter
long hair caught in his sleeve buttons
dreams wedged in a memoried throat
The massive car swerving to the
right as she pulled herself
up from sleep, 60 year old self
arrested from the story
Eyes creased, light stunned
peering out the windows
the whole of the world rumbling by
the porter on to the next
Drawn about her, remnants
of yesterday, tomorrow
as starlings in a song
swaying through the neighborhood
Only if you look up
ever shall you notice
that parenthetical ease
of the pace of this train
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