Gedicht
Michelle O\'Sullivan
The Crossing Place
The Crossing Place
The Crossing Place
He emerges among countless others froma cramped compartment of an evening train
at just the same time that a downdraft has come
to search the platform and the exited passengers.
He hasn’t a free hand to rub at his eyes so he turns
his head down and walks against something that
might otherwise harm; what use is there to say
what he would have done when young?
Only lightly alive he makes his way toward lesser lit
parks and streets and for this one split second he out-
beautifies those he walks among; he doesn’t quicken
or slow and the downdraft doesn’t know how to follow.
© 2017, Michelle O\'Sullivan
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The Crossing Place
He emerges among countless others froma cramped compartment of an evening train
at just the same time that a downdraft has come
to search the platform and the exited passengers.
He hasn’t a free hand to rub at his eyes so he turns
his head down and walks against something that
might otherwise harm; what use is there to say
what he would have done when young?
Only lightly alive he makes his way toward lesser lit
parks and streets and for this one split second he out-
beautifies those he walks among; he doesn’t quicken
or slow and the downdraft doesn’t know how to follow.
The Crossing Place
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