The pigeons and I under the viaduct
see the faded colors of the mural
I touch my hands to the paint
The trains don't come here anymore,
the last train to pass here
was 1,000 Tuesdays ago.
It raced there on the way to a black coffee boardroom
I was commuting in blue jeans
to the last creative ramp to board the arc
not realizing I was a unicorn
and that there are often free tickets to the Titanic.
It's hard to explain if it was a sense of ambition
or just a sense of purpose which drove me then
but I know it's something else now.
The color is deeper, even the black of the mural
although faded, is more opaque
than the coffee ever was.
