I saw you on the train last night
(Or was it Monday on the way back from the folks?)
Doesn’t matter because you are dead either way.
Aw, it’s not you at all.
Just another reason to write a poem.
Another reason to make something up.
There! With a screech and a holler
You be gone again towards over the bridge.
A Phantom deformed in a stranger
Attached by suggestion to memory
And for that moment
Confused by love.