In the back car of the F train,
I hug the subway pole
again.

Lost and full of defenses
listed litanies of why
what I do cannot be good
enough, until you call me
on inability
to accept much moving
forward,

forward is nowhere I think
where there are cores of earth
beneath us, trees
rising with a sense of wonder.
Sense? Senses can’t recreate
the ways I would make
this moment real
with someone other
than this pole.

A child’s eyes shake
as a train passes.

For so long we follow
the light that does not move
seeking faith in somewhere
still.

You are not here, but could be
lost light in a photograph.