Under-Over
Carl Gladish
If this train should turn onto an unknown
spur and be diverted up;
If we find ourselves above the clouds, no
Coney Island crowds in view;
If the cold of space should seep into this
car and chill our summer sweat;
If the sounds of city life become as
faint as voices in a dream;
Then I will look with you upon the trees,
remembering their gentle scent;
Then I will laugh with you at people far
below, their secrets bared to us;
Then I will gaze with you, the stars so bright
and closer than we ever knew;
Then I will hold your hand until we breathe
our last thin breaths of subway air.