The 10:15 to Cambridge
Maybe twin violets have reasons.
A cancelled check
flutters to the floor, a fire-singed moth...
The ticket he sent, folded
& folded again. Salt smell of his inner pocket.
They say there's a world
that keeps on coming up with Springs--can you count
the times you've seen it
on one hand?
But I wish you the swirling grace of London swans.
That the on-coming train
was a pack of the shyest white horses.
Louise Mathias, originally published in The Laurel Review.