Wisława Szymborska | The railroad station

My nonarrival in the city of N.

took place on the dot.

You'd been alerted

in my unmailed letter.

You were able not to be there

at the agreed-upon time.

Jeff Rowland | Right here waiting for you

The train pulled up at platform 3.

A lot of people got out.

My absence joined the throng

as it made its way toward the exit.

Several women rushed

to take my place

in all that rush.

Maria Wisława Anna Szymborska (1923-2012) was a Polish poet, essayist, translator and recipient of the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature "for poetry that with ironic precision allows the historical and biological context to come to light in fragments of human reality".

Somebody ran up to one of them.

I didn't know him,

but she recognized him

immediately.

While they kissed

with not our lips,

a suitcase disappeared,

not mine.

The railroad station in the city of N.

passed its exam

in objective existence

with flying colors.

Jeff Rowland

The whole remained in place.

Particulars scurried

along the designated tracks.

Even a rendezvous

took place as planned.

Beyond the reach

of our presence.

In the paradise lost

of probability.

Somewhere else.

Somewhere else.

How these little words ring.