The evening that you left
on the northbound train, it rained
so hard that the ground shimmered
with the reflected streetlights.
And something unsaid stopped
you from speaking, a word or phrase
that maybe should have been said
between us, but we were late, sad.
The rain, as it came, as you turned
your face up to be kissed, fell
amongst tears, it seemed to me
in hindsight, hearing you speak.
Inconsequential words were all
we said. avoiding silences
like an animal avoiding trees
in the overwhelming evening.
We spoke of time, but it was time
we spoke of something else, passing
moments, perhaps, or distances
of day's travel or mere millimetres.
Anything but the promises
that we failed to keep, in our hearts
and safe, lying even hollowly
to ourselves as we said them.
Did you sit there, passing northwards
through the city, looking out the window
at ephemeral streets, or did you turn
the corner up and read, forgetting me?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.