The Station to Spring

I screw up my face against the oncoming wind
Which carries my feet to the left and the right
I climb the slopes to the plateau
Just barely managing to hold back
Everything brimming inside me

I had been dreaming of a partially underground movie theater
Swallowing the audience members like a rectangular mouth
Feathers sprouting from an elevator car
And scattering like dandelions in April

A warm café, I hope for
A café on this street
On the rocks, sir?
A deep sleep.

In the darkness
The orange juice glows.
It seems to shine from within.
The station to spring is near.

THE STATION TO SPRING