by Sharon DiRago

I thought I saw you today, underground in Union Station
On the train — but really on the train on the next track.
You were looking down — maybe at your ticket, maybe wondering why you were there,
maybe wondering where you were going.
Suddenly with a lurch your train moved. I tried to wave, to catch your eye through the grimy window
but no, you were gone.
I sat looking out at the deep, damp gray of nothing, filled with a fog of loss.
But then my train started moving, barely, slowly, then quickly, picking up speed and
rushing into the bright
And I too was on my way.