light rail

grey, stringy, and damp
hair, shirt a faded
bruise color
she boards the light
rail car

the smell of the earth
the rise in your throat like
smooth white wands where a stump stood
once (and before
a tree?)

her eyes shut plywood
over dark windows

i don't know her at all
could be everyone she knows
falls in love with her

but when her head drooping
drowsy jerks
i close my eyes too

the worst things
i have ever seen:
light of a gun glinting from a man's
arm straight as a rail
cedar and 26th

light rail
gliding silent
on electric wings
gathering a crossing car
into its deathly arms
hiawatha and 35th

the look of someone
opening their eyes
knowing the fact they are
alive
gives nothing
to no one silently
gliding on electric wings we slow

gather up our crossing lives
38th street station
light rain glistens grey
strings of damp rail sky
the color of bruise i didn't
know i didn't know i
did not know.