Because once there
were the subway cars,
the plastic seats
whittled like wooden ships
in orange and drenched
in waves of fluorescence.

Here in the time between
waking and dreaming,
remembering and seeing
through the nostalgic
haze of dust in my
glasses.
The same plastic as the seats
covered in fingerprints,
shining like fallen stars.

Because once in this time
with the rumble-rumble
and squeaking of the subway
train in the city
when your head
lolled to the side in sleep
at 2:45 in the morning.

The angle of your neck
I will never forget.
Against the backdrop
of orange plastic subway
seats, sweaty and sticky
in the time right before morning.