By James Cianciola

When we lie—or lay—down,
and grammar slips the crown,
will we rest?

Hello.

Why do I occupy myself
with motives and movies,
looping scenes
that cannot move?

No cause for this—
a rear-window rift,
restless reflection,
real-event rumination.

You know the one:
you, in the subway glass,
that smirk of grace,
on the weasel face.

Forgive the weak chin,
the overzealous nose—
how little we choose
what the reel window knows.

Hello.

The underground train
mutters to the city,
calling places and names,
till one makes sense
to this ruminative rider.

Plaintiff pantomime rejects pleas

to release us

from these unseeable disabilities

Gesturing wildly to stay here, there, and everywhere.

Hello.

That’s ok rider.

Everywhere is better than nowhere.

Now breathe in,

breathe out,

radically accept that hope and hopelessness

can change seats within a single stop.