Like the audible wane of a train
  outside the dank night,
  or the faces in each carriage
  blurred by the most drenching rain
 the next clear face in the dimming
  fluorescent spillage is the face
  of another. Much has been ruined now.
  What is difficult to understand in farewell?
   The stillness constitutes what I know,
   embellishing the vastness around me.
   Of which spaces here you used to occupy,
   all the others that you have left,
   leading to a possible finding, or an easy trace
   of arbitrary -- it is a blunder to seek terminal finish
   making you less than what was preserved,
   perhaps more than what meets my eye
   in sleep and waking. A dream of some sort.
   The voice breaking when heard, resonates
   with revisions of what transpired, as if to
   always flatten a truth -- some voices do this.