I think of years later,
like that day on the subway
when rain crept across the rubber mats
passengers stepped on
pushing wet hair out of their eyes
This commute is routine now,
crossing the water and admiring
nametags on roofs and tunnels
your encouraging words still
ring with the sound of train brakes
With spilt coffee, the rush to exit,
and the sharp burn of ocean wind
or maybe the lack of service this
route maintains its reputation for,
I missed your call, again
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