Apr/May 2014 Poetry |
Image courtesy of the British Library Photostream
The Elevated Train
passes over homeless poets
asleep on corners,
over sunflowers in buckets
held by vendors,and over the snouts
of fire hydrants
dripping onto the streets.It stops at the platform,
still wrapped in the threads
of the city's dreams,and opens its doors on the space
where you once stood—silently blurring
in the thumbprint of a raindrop.