Beneath glass and steel
in the darkness between trains

where a few lamps float
glowing with silence

a porter wheels his empty cart
along a platform too straight ever to end

whistling as he surveys
the emptiness around him

a tune with wings
that seeks the exit

but only flies against the roof
whose intricate designs

are built to resist
the force of any song.

A voice and its echo
travel through the arches
counting down the seconds
until embraces break apart
and the bolts that hold
melancholy’s architecture
together rain down
on departing trains.

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