Moving On

I see you, from behind my glass prison---
Real as you've ever been,
Standing, smiling, on the station platform,
But you don't see me;
Only a reflection on the train window
In the afternoon drizzle.

I try to absorb each detail,
To capture the solidity of the sight of you,
To retain the sweetness of your essence
In these final moments,
Knowing all the while my effort's futility,
Yet staging once again my frantic fight.

Please…
please let it be different this time…

The train lurches.
I reach for you, urgency tightening my chest.
In my vision, my hand transcends the window…
But reality is pain;
My hand hits glass,
Scattering the trickling raindrops on the pane
That are my tears.

Then, like an apparition,
You fade from my sight.
In desperation,
I reach with my soul and grasp you,
Clasp you to me
As you dissolve, immaterial, through my mind’s arms...

The train moves on,
Leaving everything behind.
Peace comes only in forgetting,
And all that stays is emptiness.


-Skye Nightingale, 2002