From the corner of her eye, a shadow darts by.
She speeds her steps, struggling to catch every fleeting
glance and ebb of pedestrians.
When she reaches the eighth Avenue subway line,
her eyes widen at the subway cars flying by. Having
seen nothing like it back at home.
She boards the subway car and holds onto the
stanchion pole riding to sixth Avenue line.
A gentle gust of cool wind caresses her skin and
a polar sense of warmth and frigidness indwells
her chest. Chromatic bursts of lights flicker
across the car. Her eyes pull shut. Shimmering
images of his sculpted countenance, and
iridescent eyes invade her mind. His firm,
measured voice speaks to her in haunting
whispers, and she tightens her fingers around
the sleek metallic pole.
The voice quiets and sense of presence vanishes. Her
eyes pry open to the crowded subway. An elderly
woman watches agape and returns to knitting when
she notices her watching back.
She glances at her watch, noticing she almost
missed her stop at the Columbus circle station.