Turnstile

He croons a torch song
as he stumbles down
the subway steps

she, oblivious,
somersaults,
bounding down the handrails

I observe without
intervening, longing for
something without name

and you…
where were you
inside this dream?

perhaps a turnstile
or a poster peeling
off the wall

something I cannot place;
I long to come between
without observing

unsmiling, she
retreads his steps
internalizing a wordless dirge

he pens a ballade
for her; he sighs and
jumps at balloon string

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