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Description
Tall, tall grass,
a sliding glass window,
seven lanes of traffic,
and the opening door of a bus:
all the things I walk through,
you might see through,
if you would turn to look down
at me eight floors below.

When that door closes it’s
behind and beyond me,
from way up there.
But it might as well be between us,
for all the paths it seals as it
inches down the boulevard
towards the city.

If there was ever a heartstring between us
do all the closing doors wear it down?
Cotton fraying around polyester,
stretching as you drive west,
I tumble east,
bent around buildings and
stopped at red lights.
Returning again, the thing between us is
ragged, hyperextended,
unable to unstretch.

I look down at the bus stop through the window.
I don’t know where you look.

Description
Tall, tall grass,
a sliding glass window,
seven lanes of traffic,
and the opening door of a bus:
all the things I walk through,
you might see through,
if you would turn to look down
at me eight floors below.

When that door closes it’s
behind and beyond me,
from way up there.
But it might as well be between us,
for all the paths it seals as it
inches down the boulevard
towards the city.

If there was ever a heartstring between us
do all the closing doors wear it down?
Cotton fraying around polyester,
stretching as you drive west,
I tumble east,
bent around buildings and
stopped at red lights.
Returning again, the thing between us is
ragged, hyperextended,
unable to unstretch.

I look down at the bus stop through the window.
I don’t know where you look.