The Blue Line

November 28, 2014

Once, on the New York subway,
The blue line,
I saw a rat, little one.
Round with blurred edges,
Like half-erased words
That rats don’t know.
I forget it exactly.

The crowd moves in the filth
I can’t imagine them apart
Like individual pieces.
They become one. Stories
And lives and eyes that all
Die together.

I thought there was something
To say. Like with Aesop’s. An animal
That had a purpose. A meaning.
But I don’t know. Maybe there is
Something that I can’t see.
That I don’t know.

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