U-Bahn

A cold wind blows through
the tunnel beneath the street.

Hands find themselves grateful,
Hidden in woolen pockets.

Shoulders rise to their friends,
The scarf and the neck.

Tiles echo scuffling tires that
run the gauntlet above,

Free from the yellow lines and
impatient timer board.

Frankfurter Tor, it reads,
Shuddering with a coming light.

Finally. Warmth and soft perch.
Relief from the growing dark.

A cold wind blows through
the tunnel beneath the street.

U Bahn

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