I read matchbook covers
My mother cried when I quit
I’m in a streetcar tunnel
Riding along, riding alone
Watching my face, my face
Filmed in a related journey. 
I see my face that sees me. 

When I quit it was raining
I needed the Dean’s signature. 
I crossed, recrossed my legs:
Waited. He wouldn’t look up.
I watched his thinning hair 
While he wrote; while he wrote
Blinds clinked lightly behind him. 

Outside, wind blew into a tree
And undid her hair in streams.