Melancholy’s Architecture

The corner towers of a railway station
that outlasted a monarchy
each hold an angel with golden wings
at the highest point
while crowds file through the portals
on the theatrical façade
looking out onto a park where a girl
is waving, always waving, as if
to say Goodbye all day long. Her lips
are shaped with Goodbye. Her eyes are sad
and heavy with Goodbye. Among the flowers
she looks lost and lonely. She is so small
beside the stream of people
holding tickets marked with fate
that were it not for the handkerchief
held between her thumb and index finger

she would be invisible. She watches
all day as strangers disappear,
too many to have names
or to be counted, but no matter. Before
checking the time on the clock
whose benevolent face always says
Don’t rush, I’m not going away
every one of them stops and turns
for a last look at the life
they are leaving behind. Only departures
are scheduled here. The trains
leave for God-only-knows-where
and the girl alone cares
enough to be there when they do.

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