Trailways 5

There was a last snow
the day before I left.
The late March sun is melting
what’s left of it
onto the wet streets.

My bus ride was
just an hour or so
to your red-brick hometown
on the river.
I rode easy,
leaning forward toward the window
watching as the sun glinted off the snow,
the wet road,
and the river,
down below.

Now, I am waiting for you
on a bench
just outside the station
My face turned up to the sun
my eyes closed,
listening to the gurgle of
the thaw,
waiting for your hello.

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