This poem is called "New Haven."
It's about the sad Northeastern train trips from New Haven.
"We sit, and sleep, and think side by side.
But today I cannot explain myself to you.
The little girl I was bouncing on my knee,
her compact body so warm, and smooth, and in violet.
On the train, we watch people crawl in and out of gray strip
malls and dead towns.
How does love possess me?
How does blood pulse from my body?
Every crumb seems thoughtful, if not downright sad.
This day is sheer, and we have no child."