At The Train Station
From The Main Street Rag
I miss you more here
under the red roof of comings
and leavings, the metal and noise,
doors closing with a hiss,
the windows with faces
blurred behind glass
as the train huffs and pulls
away. Only one direction
it can go. On this once-
familiar street where
amber and gold leaves
fell, one by one, piled
at our feet, I stand now
and watch them blow
away. It’s an exquisite pain,
memory: the once-bright
shine I can still glimpse
under the aging patina.