This Light I Remember
On its way to Bensonhurst, the D train
glides from below ground to elevated
tracks between low buildings.
The sun fades into a winter evening,
its light forgiving on gouged brick,
security grills, scratched paint.
Framed in the train windows,
the world is softer in the light,
more gentle in the dusky gold.
Only you and I, Beloved, are in our train car,
in the half-light swaying. Your quiet is a blanket
on both our shoulders.
At Bensonhurst, we’ll disembark,
walk west to Dyker Heights and its extravagant
Christmas displays. Crowds will impede,
cars will honk, cameras will stutter in the night.
Until then, we sway on the D train
in the quiet light. The train breathes cold air on stops,
exhales it and presses on above darkening streets.
Between my hands, I keep
one of yours. The light dissolves,
and the train delivers us gently.
Kilter Street Chronicles 