Poetry

We exchanged autographs
in our slim volumes
between university streets 
and picture card Warsaw
on country roads
of pre-war optimism
huddled between whispers
of childhood traveling
from rag pickers of the mind
hearing etudes of Chopin
as any Parisian exile
sinking between
premature fears
over bridges
of history and expatriation
passing sleep houses
from a voiceless hour
on a late train
when a mute shower
of ashes came down
from the heavens
on the tracks
leading to our own
death in life departures.