On the levalois line,
I sleep.
The trains halt and clang up
through earth to let me feel the ground,
their ground,
the tracks and oil and rats. Up through the floor boards
And the dial down stairs I can't read it. I want to find out what it is but I don't want to know bc then there would be nothing left to wonder about and I would pass and know why the knob turns and the spiget in the garden doesn't flow. And I want to wonder.