At Night

Out of the rumbling dark

We accumulate the shapes

Of other beginnings

The train stops for a moment

And it is almost the same—

Only a little different—

Green crescents floating

A place name like a flash card

Close to the eyes, big, definite and dim

There is no reason for mistrust

And the rumble resumes:

When it stops one wakens into silence

And the wetness of the air

The pavement firm and black

Black sky with geometric lights

Violet, electric; the smell of bushes

A barking dog, footsteps, the slam of car doors

A latching door, newspapers and boxes

The color of food on the colored tablecloth

And music, and musical voices.