Taxi meter ticking under my knee Glass holds the street like a half-remembered seam For one small breath, your face comes through Then the window thins, and it turns into view The driver keeps time with his thumb on the wheel We slide past a laundromat, a shut-down deli Your outline drifts over the backseat glass Like something I almost knew, then let pass Red brake lights streak across my sleeve I keep looking for a shape I can’t retrieve The city settles against the taxi door And for one blink, the world felt less than before It’s only a ride, but it keeps me still The driver asks if this is home I say not yet, and mean a name I can’t hold Glass keeps the night in a thin bright frame I saw your face, then the shape of it changed
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