The placid evening emits
from unwonted quarters around
the street lamps that- yellow, white, red-
serve as windows to a prehistoric glow.
The eaten up progress of the year
has brought to these oasis of brightness
insects that dance as if to be
a mosquito has made
its way inside the train.
I bend forward to reach out
And... I miss it.
But now, the train, from whose window
I been watching those insects and torches,
has made its way into the station.
Time to get down.
Creatures of mouse-holes
to reinforce the reign of lamps.