`
You sit 'cross me on the evening train
In your dark denims, and gray cardigan.
Your lips flush red with red lipstick.
You glance at me, and smile once, quick.
When he calls up – you hardly speak:
Your eyes are tired, your voice is weak.
The phone call done, you close your eyes.
The train chugs on, amidst your sighs.
Lovely you look, in your gray and blue,
Your dark red lips, large eyes and you.
How he must love those lips, those eyes,
That lovely nose, those eyebrows wise!
Yet does he really understand you?
Your lips, your eyes, your gray and blue?
Why let me love you while you sleep
For these few moments, for me to keep,
Before we part strangers again,
Who sat across on an evening train.
No, not your lips, or eyes, or hair –
He loves all that, and you do not care.
Instead, let me love your empty sigh,
The infinite tiredness in your eye,
The yearnings of your lonely heart,
And these three long feet that keep us apart.
`
Grand Central Station, NY,
November, 2011
