Rippling canopy showing through the high
windows that no one notices
but everyone sees:
Alewife station.
Rising from the ancient forest,
a ruin,
invisible in the crescendo
The midday rush when we were so in love
Her pale deep grace
revealed in overgrowth and decay:
a spiral of concrete,
a monument to us
and our constant shuffle;
where I am
where I must be
The vines and ferns reclaim the walls
The birds nest in the steel rafters
The travelers’ carriage becomes at long
long last, a home
Under sway of green
and ageless blue
Bright in the afternoon sun.