ere we long to board the right train
following the maze of signs we hasten
through cramped corridors between bundles and suitcases
we don't have time to look up where under the spherical vault
hangs down dusty and dingy
florentine chandeliers
we compress sweaty copper coins like springs
we form disorderly lines
a gypsum wall-mounted ten-year-old putto is above us
sometimes blowing into his gilt horn
we glance at a bored blonde girl
who eats an apple leaning against a column
finally we reach the platform
impregnated with beer and roses
we kiss someone we beg them not to forget we hesitate
if we're in a right seat
until we release ourselves from the earth
and softly depart
soothed we look through the windows at the first trees
turning yellow in the suburban woods