I am standing in the station

connecting the lines of a map,

routes that grasp the city in its palm,

and spot a circled “you are here” in the center.

I am here in the center of a storm,

listening for the thunderous waves

of wheels on tracks,

waiting for the train.

People fill the station like the tide

out to busses rolling slow like whales who’ve just kissed the surface.

In the wind, the gentle whisper of a stranger soars like a flame of leaves whipping the ground.

A voice calls no smoking on the platform, and yet the leaves still burn the smell of cigarette ash.

As busses come and go, the thunderous train glides to a stop, pouring passengers out and filling up on more, sloshing passengers to the back as it gains speed.

As I’m pulled from the station, I watch the storm sail away as I await more of the city in the palm of my hand.