A Pin on the Map

Pull yourself up by the iron railing

and step onto the train.  Leave soft dirt,

gravel dust, cracked tar.  You think the town

might disappear after strike down.  Rain streaks

the window.  You leave nothing.  His soda

fountain water eyes, staring past you

as you kissed his cheek, are staring

still.  Like forgotten smoke or fever dreams

a faint scent of opium clings to your skin.