tribulation in mind
heart in glove
the wayward depot sways like an old Cinerama
she whispers something in his ear
a rushing train destroys his equilibrium
he can't hear a thing
he thinks she said love
he can't be sure
that word he so often mishears it seems in the brokerage of his desires
the truth climbs invisibly
like the ascending jet he hears above
he has to nod
she too
they part
first step a ladle of tears drops
the porter reaches out his hand, helps him up
the metronome of his wave at her through a nearby window
has failed to reach its object
he can't see her anywhere
as the hungry speed of the train gains
obliterating even the passing landscape's familiar slate