The train moves like a diving bell
through a sea of night.
Cities luminous shoals of distant fish,
until all fades in the depths,
the world closes in,
the window shows only my reflected face
orange under neon light.
The train sways suddenly
moves the centre of myself,
away from myself,
unchained to rails or seat
I’m thrown back into remembering
that last hour of the journey home,
when eyelids eggshell brittle with tiredness
closed against harsh amber light.
The carriage a decompression chamber
coming slowly up from the depths of us,
but never slowly enough,
so that when I arrived I still had the bends.
The pressure of your absence
bubbling in my ears and veins.
Now every train ride sounds
the Morse code of our embryonic
love within the rail’s clack.
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