I ran through the crowd on the platform, sneaking through gaps in legs or under arms.
I made it to train number three just in time. I took the cold metal railing in my hand as I hoisted my body onto the small platform between cars and then with my worn pack in one hand, I pushed the steel door open with my other.
When you were younger we would lay in the grass and admire the stars for a while.
You would splay your fingers until they were open wide, like colorful fans displayed in the stands along the cobblestoned streets and hold them to the sky like a net holding the constellations in their place.
You would reach for the sky as if you could pull the shinning stars from it and cup your hands as if
There was the method of kneeling, a fine method, if you lived in a country where stones were smooth. The women dreamed wistfully of bleached courtyards, hidden corners where knee fit rock. Their prayers were weathered rib bones, small calcium words uttered in sequence, as if this shedding of syllables could somehow fuse them to the sky.