Passing

1

Streetlights wrapped in fog

The pavement mistakes nine for zero

Tall in dreadlocks and jeans

She passes

I turn to see her recede

The appointment of our previous loves

Lost in a turbulent crossing

poetry of my youth

I let her pass.

            2

In the auto queue

I do not understand the exchange of eyes

The breadth of her shoulders quiver

Her fingers are restless on her friend’s

and behind her back her fingers

speak in Tamil

Inside, her face flicks a turn,

and again

And my fingers seek darkness

At our destination

I pay my fare

She waits