smith and 9th
briefly
up from the tunnels
to this the clearest
sight in Brooklyn
how sweet
and expected
the golden sheets
delicately holding
late Tuesday afternoon
the comforts of viewing
that only come with distance
squares of sunlight flash
through the car
passing flock and disappear
framing the riders
the bridges the superfund sites
the buildings
all the same
in the space between us
no real words meet
a phone plays a trap beat
a baby wails
an announcement is lost inside an old speaker
an old man sleeps
across from me
head cupped in open palm
his closed eyes
warming beneath the glow
as a train goes rattling across the sky