All the people are wearing black.
Coming out of stations, scrambling
on buses, crossing the street, stacked
on escalators
they look like letters running away
from words I am struggling to understand.
There is no way to fix them
blurred as they are by movement,
mirrors and cracked glass.
I am trying to write you down
on this white space
in longhand, calm
you, still you,
put my arms around you,
touch your face, trace
the cheekbone,
hold you long enough
for you to read
the words we have been assembling