Transit

In transit, the intricate woodgrain doorposts
turned thesis and were neglected.

Frozen hallelujahs on my lips; how long
since my coaled tongue moved

in the vessels, in the chambers, in the sad
and holy glow of that diminishing halo!

Elsewhere in transit, the studied pockmarked
pavement: I could write a book

about the awkward landscapes that define
our superposition.