The train has gone under
She is triangular-footed
Cubano music echoes
Two women talk of polar opposites
I sit next to my shadow
Dreams sprouting from me
Others’ dreams like dust gathered at my doorstep
Leaves, debris, and sky
Swingset of death
A flowing geyser of limbs.
Voices of strangers and empty seats.
The lucky ones who stopped before stepping on the platform.
Her foot taps
Timing her existence
3/11/04 after Madrid train bombing written while on BART