The Red Ribbon at Route 402
I have spent three years watching the last bus pull away from
Terminal Chronicler
The Lavender Hour Before Midnight
I always preferred the park at this hour, when the city'
The Afterglow of a Rainy Tuesday
I always arrive at the terminal just as the last bus exhales
The Last Train to Kyoto, a Promise Kept in Silk
I used to believe that time was a linear track—a train
The Blue Hour Between Two Heartbeats
I used to be like the 11:45 PM bus from Central
The Pale Yellow Hour Between Departures
I chose this dress because it looks like a memory of sunlight,
The Saltwater Echo of an Unsent Letter
I used to watch the 12:05 AM bus pull away from
The Last Lap Before Twilight
I always run when the city begins to exhale, my sneakers striking
The Yellow Hour Before Midnight
I used to count the minutes by the flicker of fluorescent lights
The Last Stop Before Memory Fades
I used to track time by the rumble of the midnight bus
The Midnight Ticket to Your Skin
The city hums with a tired frequency at midnight, and I have
The Last Drink Before Midnight
I have always felt like a passenger on the last bus of
