The opening and closing of train doors,
this city's gills. I'm another pale reflection
with the apparitions in the flow.
Behind me is someone or other,
whose features I think I know.
Behind us are ores of memories,
bridges over voids, veins of darkness.
We have our dead, we let them go.
And we are now in front of partings,
which are already behind us.
Before us bright gates stand.
These pedestrian spaces
are no place to pause or listen.
Our gazes are free from grief --
with leaving comes omission.
And I'll be damned if I look back.
By Yvonne KohQLRS Vol. 8 No. 2 Apr 2009
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