Across
Grand Central
She emptied the huge station,
made a crowded room vacant
and small with her grace.
People were recast as ghosts,
dim steps dyed bright as she walked
through a breeze in a halo, creating
her own light and wind.
At a distance, some sympathy
of physics provided a telescope
to her eyes. Far away,
their blue-green made me bleed.
There were things I needed to say
then. Invitations to extend, offers
of coffee and wine, a quiet meal
under small flames. I wanted
to ask her the time, pretending
time mattered. I wanted to tell her
it was sunny outside if she cared
to see. I wanted to think
of something she could not know,
longing to give her a piece
of the world, something new. I
wanted to ask if she might let
a stranger hold her hand
and walk her, without words,
to the train. But I stood still,
another ghost, and watched her
disappear into a tunnel. Since
that day and now,
I look for her in crowds.
Copyright © 2005 Patrick Carrington