Taft Avenue Station.
Hurried steps, doors closing,
like a relationship ending,
and I thought of a little girl’s hand.
small and fragile, soft and clinging,
at the edge of my thoughts,
but barely succeeding.
Such small hands.
small kind of big; enough to keep me in.
Enough to make me understand.
Life is like holding a baby’s hand.
I stood by the door and felt the train’s beat.
And I said to myself: the circle of life
is finally complete.
Yesterday I thought, Are trains for thinking?
Hurried steps, doors closing,
like a relationship ending,
and I thought of a little girl’s hand.
small and fragile, soft and clinging,
at the edge of my thoughts,
but barely succeeding.
Such small hands.
small kind of big; enough to keep me in.
Enough to make me understand.
Life is like holding a baby’s hand.
I stood by the door and felt the train’s beat.
And I said to myself: the circle of life
is finally complete.
Yesterday I thought, Are trains for thinking?
