Here, we relax
into a silence to be treasured,
a silence of flourescent tubes,
vending machines and dark,
feral noises in the distance,
just beyond the out-sized picket fence,
where the safe eerie orange pool stops.

A moth's wings catch
the streetlight,
and resemble ambers
falling from the lamps
above our heads.

We sit on the platform,
not talking or touching,
watching the displays change
and ignoring the inertia,
growing from the corners
of this single station bench.