You were in love he was making you unhappy
in that familiar addictive way
So you stumbled through life blissed out and hungry
in a state somewhere between angel and zombie
but the train still moved over the wheat with its shadow
and people still became passengers
were all lifted and carried away

In the cool light of great stations
concourses of marble and steel and glass
a perpetual vanishing occurs
This is the space which remains
when the vectors of people disperse
making a point of home
and the flash of our confluence
happens but cannot be known

All that towering summer I watched you suffer
I guess I’m good at other people’s suffering
maybe not so good at my own
You took my sympathy, like this, as read
Perhaps you didn’t understand entirely
my motives, but then I suppose
neither do I
After the sum is done and the equation is balanced
there is always something remaining
like shadows on the paper
or the emptiness of a mirror nearby
something to disturb the complacency of signs
and to mock our hope of equilibrium

We caught a late train home one night
after a bombing and delays
Public transport was all over the place
the city seemed to lose connection with itself for a while
The station was very quiet
almost all the journeys were over
You kept talking about him and I kept listening
I felt sad for you and a little envious
at the trap you found yourself in
the puzzle of your rapture passing
Outside on the plain the wheat was ripening
I thought a few things while you talked
how easily we are lost in intelligence
how immense the ignorance is
how we pass through each other without even noticing
like the ghosts of neutrinos
When I looked at your face
I felt so much was being mislaid all the time,
mislaid never to be found again
Losing sight of things in a life of glitch and slipstream
it’s how it is
It didn’t make much sense but that didn’t matter
We would still have to wake in the morning and be someone
I would still have to look up from the platform
still have to see the sky
still have to gather the light

In the city the station would be waiting
cleaners vacuuming,
cocoons of fresh journeys
swelling in rows,
the imprint of wraiths and moths of the slanting
rays of the moon
of things which we could not know had happened
fading slowly as a new sun rose

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