Station, A Goodbye to You
Shi Yang Su
We were both drunk in the middle of pouring rain,
slipped across cold, humid rails, catlike,
tiptoed to reach the tilted train station.
over five miles, the steel monster licked in the mossy labyrinth
pale passengers floated clumsily under wet curtains
flashing lights squeezed like ugly spots under looming clouds.
I rubbed my eyes until moisture blurred the sight,
but the itch revived, digging deep on my eyelids,
deteriorating by the dropping of astral water.
The universe rained on us.
raindrops cleared his hair, glittering as an amber dusk.
They also ruined my cotton dress:
it now nestled tightly on my thigh, rubbed the skin with
hard edges every second when I moved.
But I ran faster towards the naked, silver ticket counter.
shivering arms loosed and tightened
in the rhythm of his bumping bag,
soles bled in violet-dark but not a rupture of flesh
Satisfaction swept over me:
when his breath rose in warm sea breezes with mine,
exchanged, and exhaled under the same debris of a cloudburst.
I became part of him, the cochlea and his half shadow
For once, I strove for a stop in this unstoppable.
but I just watched him speeding up,
faster, deft as a wet salmon, leaving a quiver upon my lip.
disappeared in the thick, dark night.