Updated: Jan 8
When a train is stagnant,
I am breathless contained. When it moves I follow to reach any destination. I pass many scenes many greens, I pass the streetlight that is warm and still, reminding me of home. I let it settle like the fog on the lake. I admire the sunsets as a breath or pause,
where I let my body hang over the edge of the banister to rest my back and feet, to rest my eyes fixated on a moldy green that is the water. She may lean on my shoulder here, and I will accept it
only here as a sign of trust and meaning,
so far from that water
that the moon still controls in tide.