The sight of day vanishes as if cut.
Underground tremors release into tunnels
creating monster echoes.
The train becomes absorbed in an ocean
of dark air.
Doors fling open. Warm gaseous fumes
slap morning faces.
The platform fills with legs and shoes and
eyes looking down; children are still
home in bed.
The atrium fills with a ten thousand breaths.
Sounds recoil off flat colorless walls.
People lines separate to the exits.
Doors fling open to streets.
Shoulders weave into streams,
forming rivers of going.
Roger Singer 