The train's smoke drifts across the
space from where the doors slide back.
I step through to the platform,
searching, eyebrows arched like the
curve of a question mark.
On tiptoe, burgundy overcoat
billowing, beret, brick red, steeped high
above your head - there you are!
In the crowd, your flushed, expectant
Spanish exclamation point.
For a moment, life hyphenates
in a kiss, slows to a grand full stop.