A train runs through them | One walking east | one west | Not all the power is there for their taking | The streetlights are cool and impersonal | Distilled by the perfections of loneliness | they know the city in their own way | Sharing the space between them | Weighing the weightless things | old people sitting under the cherry trees | in spring | gazing at blossom

Divergent things | a girl | brushing against a boy on a train | In the column of solitude | each inhabits | diverse states | momentarily unified | On her banner | she carries September skies | silhouettes of scaffolding | on construction sites | after work has ended | Immaculate and | intimate | she carries him, too | In their tenderness | it is the octagenerians | are young | the blossoms of one day | ancient || Years later | as the streetlights click on | in the autumn evening | the calmness of this world | lies | all around us | unapproachable yet | secure | confided | yet unknown | resting, scattered | in the arms | of so many new strangers

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)
(this poem, September 2012)

 

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