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By Anthony Oropeza

Howling winds,
like that of standing
near a beach shore.
The cars of the freeway
above me accumulate in sound,
as I climb down the stairwell
two steps at a time.

I look up,
to the aweing exterior,
with a train in departure
on the 2nd floor,
and look down to the
empty terminals within
desolation.

That nearly dreadful moment,
of perilously traipsing through
stations at the specter of insecurity,
abruptly slips into my reality.
But still I amble,
and climb down the stairwell,
two steps at a time.

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