Starlite Boulevard

After we separated, I walked in the mornings

through that new part of the city, its streets named

for precious stones. I could never remember if Jade

came before Ruby, whether Garnet Street

preceded Opal. The winter was like that: turning into the wrong room

in my new apartment, reaching into the trash

for the thrown-away letter,

coming back with broken glass.

In time, though, closing my eyes

as I neared the intersections, trying to recall,

I did: after Jade came Jasper.

After Jasper, Starlite Boulevard.

Early in the morning, stepping onto the northbound train

at the underground station, I shuffled sleepily

through the crowded cars. Strangers’ shoulders

touched my shoulder. The southbound passed

like a parallel life. I read the Gospels through the long dark

tunnels, putting the book down past 2nd Street

where the tracks gradually emerged

into the morning air.

And that was my favorite part: the immediate

daylight. The massive stanchions of the blue bridge

above the wide river.

And the freight trains, their true size

made small by distance, crossing over.