I Move in Light

dawn at the train station:

hushed voices scatter last night’s news

into the air like goldfish the

morning light plucks it pours

it over pillars & swims at your feet.

the floor is wet with feelings

spreading onto everything

like saliva. I spill in all directions,

making the birds scatter and alight.

even here, I am slowly looking

for ways to slink away

from the scene. the train

has caterpillared to a stop

its driver takes a moment

to rest his head, fingers drumming

a familiar beat against the side

of the carriage and as he does this

the stitches binding the picture rip

apart more and more. the truth

about restlessness is that

it has whittled my body to lean forward

and away. it measures time with a scale

and cups the hours in its hands.

you look holy in the dusty light and

I want to write a prayer on each of your eyelids.

the windows of the train are too clean,

its honeycomb carriages too narrow.

I am always running late.