The seats, empty, between us
Are full of broken mirror
So when you try to sit
you’re cut to pieces by your own reflection
[Next to me] is a continent conquered by absence
A nothing so full of quiet
you can swallow your self whole
All these distances are full of ghosts.
At the last stop I watch myself enter the train car,
I meet eyes with myself as I search for place,
Then pretend I saw nothing,
no one,
I watch myself, walk over to myself
Or to the empty space next to me.
I watch the absence stretch its hands up, lovingly grasping my cheeks in each hand
I listen as it whispers
This seat is taken.