The Canal

She steps between the sidewalk cracks and black

railings to sit with her back to me. Canal

boats float past grassy banks and buildings, spilling

into the locks like red blood cells in veins

and the seconds I count between breaths. And then, of course,

the roiling hum of diesel engines and the white

water that rushes past and out the drain.

 

In choked and spluttered whispers, she and I,
we ask for blankness--for that gracious lack

to enter us--for anonymity--

for fear of knowing what it meant, or if it did.