City bus [1999]

every inch of the empty seat still warm
the celibate concrete slopes down into
your perfumed hand

every inch of my spartan iron ribs cold
to the gaze of the pink and greyed sky
your back pocket

holds a crumpled page and out the door
to some other world which I have never seen
your fainted memory

now slips beneath this hollow clanging
to the opposite side where bits of dust crash by
your raining barrage

every inch of the empty seat still warm
to the touch of october's frigid fingerprints