At the changing place of trains,
Below the vaulted glass,
Beneath the concrete overpass,
Between the gravelled tracks, electric rails and
Behind the moving stairs,
Inside the steel box,
For travellers and baggage
(Not more than 19 souls),
It was fluttering.
Translucent green like new beech leaves in a spring breeze
Up against a false sun of neon and grimy plastic
Beneath the closed cavity of my ribs
And how my heart ached
As we left, we travellers and baggage,
Inside the steel box.