1.
It doesn't matter that I am pressed
elbow to stomach with another
person, that someone else's breath
mingles with mine. Standing here,
clutching a metal bar, I feel
almost like some kind of god
staring at creation. Just below me,
a scroll of lives unfolds. A patchwork
of rooftops, an unfinished building,
the dusty lights of signboards
that spill their brightness on me when I'm
on the pavement. It seems I can peek
into any room, make something happen
to the many puny lives in this world.
The shirtless man smoking on the balcony
of a dingy building, the child
playing with a ball in his enclosed yard,
the woman with green eyeshadow
crooning to herself - all of them
can be characters in my very own story,
all of them shall do what I tell them.
Man might marry woman, woman
might break man's heart, child
might grow up and turn out beautiful,
so beautiful in fact I will turn him
into a flower. Nothing is impossible,
as long as I streak over the city
in my metal cloud, as long as my few coins
let me fly, fly, fly. Aloft I can almost
forget my life, that unbearable gravity
bringing us always back down.
2.
Up here, I am sorely reminded
of my body's edges, as I try
to fold myself into the narrowest
space. No one speaks to me,
but I am as close to other people
as I might be to a lover. I can feel
an old man's hot gaze on my nape.
A woman's umbrella pokes me
just below my breast. A baker
might as well be here to knead
and butter me up like dough.
I think all of us here would make
a great bread! As we hurtle forward,
airborne, towards our destination,
funny that what grates is not
the little intrusions, the knuckle
or knee digging into my flesh,
the various odors rising to my nose.
It's not even the thin air we suck together,
as if we were puppies sharing a nipple.
Rather, it's the fact of the Self alone,
the self walled in against the others.
We may all rub borders for a brief while.
In the end, it is still I and them, still
to each his own. When we get down,
we forget how we shared one breath.
Always we get off alone.
3.
I always cherish moments like this,
when we can act like furtive lovers.
As I hang onto the strap above me,
looking at the many stoic faces,
I suddenly feel your body's hardness.
And then nothing is real anymore
but your body rubbing itself in, though
it doesn't get through, though
none of you really makes it to me.
At these moments I feel the world
falling away, though truth is it's so near
I can see pocks and pores and hairs,
if I want to, on people's faces.
Earthbound, we are not like this.
We have to keep our customary distance.
But here the crowd itself hides
our secret. It's as if no one here
wants to see the other. It's as if
closeness makes each one look away
In a different direction. So go on,
let me feel the heat of your body.
Let us continue our invisible dance
On this train. Once the door
squeaks open, we will walk
into the sun together, but out there
It's as if the only thing I know is your name.
