Silence raked the terminal,
Pouring out into the fog 
As we spoke of the future; swept tears,
Like goodbyes hushed on corners 
	Or in alleyways far from there.
It is not that we surrendered to dismay 
Or trusted in nothing, it is that 
The night faded in moments like those, 
Absorbing with distance and nebula, 
For miles after miles.
	In addition, when we woke to the taste 
Of far-offs, the scent of coal- 
Never forgotten, 
Like scenes at the station, or words 
Carefully placed into journals,
Our hands remain stitched 
With the delicacy of a ribbon
That still grows from one heart 
To the other. And it is not that 
We are lacking or far from home, 
It is that we remain blended for a while
	In the seams of separateness.