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Across Grand Central
by Patrick Carrington

She emptied the huge station,
made a crowded room vacant
and small with her grace.
People were recast as ghosts,
dim steps dyed bright as she walked
through a breeze in a halo, creating
her own light and wind.

At a distance, some sympathy
of physics provided a telescope
to her eyes. Far away,
their blue-green made me bleed.

There were things I needed to say
then. Invitations to extend, offers
of coffee and wine, a quiet meal
under small flames. I wanted

to ask her the time, pretending
time mattered. I wanted to tell her
it was sunny outside if she cared
to see. I wanted to think

of something she could not know,
longing to give her a piece
of the world, something new. I
wanted to ask if she might let

a stranger hold her hand
and walk her, without words,
to the train. But I stood still,
another ghost, and watched her
disappear into a tunnel. Since
that day and now,
I look for her in crowds.

(first appeared in 3rd Muse Poetry Journal)

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