EN EL METRO

With the sensation that my days are numbered
that I can count them backward to infinity
I travel gently from station to station
in a train illuminated by sunlight
and the faces of my fellow travelers
alive in forgetfulness
and the dimensions of love.

There's a baby in the corner
biting his mama's hands
seeing all of this for the first time.
There's an old woman
who will not pass this way again.

I'm alone on the voyage
thinking in a language
no one else can understand.
The train passes the sun
from hand to hand
from face to face
slopping gently like beaten
eggs in a bowl.

My days are numbered. I can count them
backward to my death,
forward to my birth.
There is plenty of time for love
between station and station.
Each revolution of the wheels
brings me closer to greeting you,
closer to saying goodbye.

1984