In the New Station

The transit time was brief as promised. The window 
offered only blurs of colors and shapes for distraction.

You either move forward across this haze
or watch her diminishing in importance,

anchored in the past with eyes still legible
despite the tears and rain.

That turn, a mild jolt, finally moved the train 
away from her. But your sigh is too far 

from the window to smear it with doors 
now closed to any after thought.

Arriving in the new station, doors open again.
If only one's heart could quickly do the same.