Captions

(under Tilt collection, by Jean Sprackland, b.1962 - )

We are described
in the language of rain on a train window--
not running down the glass, but lashed across it.

Awkward text, hammered out
against the direction of travel, almost
too jumpy, too broken to read.

Out there is where we meet,
two inarticulate ghosts on the screen of the night.
It's the only way we can look at each other.

The captions punch and stammer over us.
I watch you blink. I watch you watch me blink.