Night Train redux

BETCHA BY GOLLY WOW

for Phyllis Hyman

Whose blue wail is this glittering alone

as sapphire necklace of tight knitted notes

scaling the sky past dusk1? Humming to quote

some lush echo, grazing kisses off stone

faces which bob or float in Southside streams

& sigh “If I could” for their half-sipped woes,

pulling bipolar box cars in their flow

to exit St. Clair Village under steam2.

But Phyllis, then {your lips} puckered with flair,

{bare}ly brushing our naked neck late nights

with May feathers of whistled {melody}

that became {June rain}. What still splits our air

daring to flutter3 or dip? What silk kite

straining at its cord, aching to twist free?

——————————————-

1 last train her mascara still running

2June evening  between police lights  fireflies

3 on the shoulder of a pall bearer  a butterfly