Breath Between The Rails

In the belly of the deserted subway,
the air shivers through dead glass and cold tracks.
The stars appear to weave within the breaths,
a dust of light that listens patiently to me.
Their breathing turns into a map of gentle arrows,
charting the dark through rediscovered streets and names.
Fear spreads out, bending into rails and lampposts,
and every pulse points toward a turning home.
I follow that sigh, and the city opens at the exit;
home is not a roof, but a return to breath.
The metro falls quiet, the stars draw pathways;
I go home, guided by a map of light.