On the train in Tokyo

though we are not strangers
though time was given to us
once before not twice I’ll fold
my eyelids down and out
down, away from you, sway
side to side, drunk-like, left
hand in place of someone else
‘s journey home tonight
held on to silver, balance
silver as steel rail is
the car is full of glass
the car is full of ghosts
more mirrors than Versailles
to dance me side to side
to side the next stop is
no more existential thoughts
no more pretty things
for ravens me and you
shiny objects narrow pockets
doors close soon after
the melody ends they wrote
no more staring down
the wall without a pencil
did you know that maps
lie pathologically
rock paper scissors
you belong to me
the most logical
thing in the world
rock paper scissors
you belonged to me
paper folded letter-less
rock paper 가지마
I saw you in the hairline
of some tall Italian
in glasses gaze down
나를 잊지마
they say what is said
don’t they, no more
transparencies
only spectacles only
oil lamps no wishes only
fables on the greatest
mystery of all
the way it flickers
when someone has
someone left opened
the train car window
the ghosts speak French
they know it all
though it seems unfair
comment I cannot tell
why it would matter why
although we are far from
strangers from now on
tell me why the heart
leaves evidence
San Francisco left its
morning’s heavy fog
into my line of sight
eyes swept dry
with information
I listen for the melody
I cannot know
if we are strangers
when your eyes well up
I cannot tell
if you are standing
next to me