In the evening rush

Giant room
white-light hum of linolium fresh
reflections, escelator belts.
I am not addapted to these artless walls,
the lack of movment. We are grazing
as we wait.

The subway is empty
it rattles
strings of light strike seats.

Above ground, in Plaza de Miserere
evening has dropped into the air.
the night-time procession

of vendor disassemblence, buses
spilling people,
streets that lurch and red-light honk

the sun that spills from residue
like something that has passed.