Subway Poem 8

The tunnel was dark.
The woman was warm.
Would you rather be light?
The woman asked.
Would you rather be cold?
The tunnel replied.
The woman said nothing.
Instead, she stepped onto the train,
Pulled her hair off her neck
To cool herself



And in the sway of the train
And the dark of the window
She made a list of all
That she had ever loved.
You were there, of course,
On the list, along with the birds
And fall and falling,
But then there were other things,
Darker things, tunnels, silences.
And the list grew and grew
Until it became something else entirely,
Something silver and filled



And hidden under the city,
Something pulsing, vibrant,
Entirely unseen from the sky,
Almost invisible in its desire.