We four met at the bus stop, randomly
the FRTA in Northampton, outside the Academy of Music
it was cold, gray, 6 PM in October
with blue lights inside buses starrifying the sidewalk
I had just emerged from icy oceans beneath
the crust of Europa (which really are 62
miles deep, and full of life) as I nursed my
wounds of apparent rejection (more…)
Now riding the FRTA bus from Northampton to Greenfield
obsessively revising a poem on my phone
the bus rattling with ferocity
like a small traveling earthquake of metal
other passengers staring off or into
the blue-ish ghost light of their own phones
all of us being ferried loudly across the Route 5 of forgetting
that runs parallel to the Connecticut River.
The other night I accidentally drove your car until it ran out of gas. It stalled out on 91 North just above Exit 22, and I sat there revising a poem on my phone as trucks sent shudders through the air and your little car shook back and forth.
Last night we walked around a track by athletic fields near a waterfall, Smith College, tall flourescent lights whitening with glowing bone light the wheat of yellow setting sun, the fence around the field looking strange with diamond shapes whirring by, catching bright glints on their dark green metal as we starred the sky with our laughter, talking about how the universe might be as baffled as we are, New England Fall air crushed-leaves-sweet, and water-blessed.