by Jeffrey McDaniel
Glance at a woman on a train platform.
Suddenly we've been married for years.
I know all the delicate nuances
in her nine dialects of silence.
Can pick her from a thousand others
just with a sniff of her neck.
We sit next to each other, as we always have.
Our elbows touch, like the tips of matches.
Exactly the way I remember.
When she says excuse me, this is my stop,
there is nothing awkward about it.