Nose pressed to the window
, today as always I am watching things slide by. I am watching long and hard to
find their rhythm, because there is an undercurrent
in everything and it is all connected
deep deep down.
City trees are fenced in wrought iron, one foot high,
and share their crowded space with tulips, tight
against the small bars. This seems just as ominous
to me as the torn SALE banner on the sporting goods
store. Today the clouds are being annoying and forceful
and all these things are all rumbling with the same
Wipe my wet breath steam off the window, clammy
comfort of glass and think about how I used to fight
sleep on the overnight rides. I'd lean into the cold
blackness outside and stare unseeingly at night
all the way back to Canada. I never lasted longer than
an hour but the strung lights and Yanni on my walkman
made lots of sense together.
Guess what: I like this sameness, I like this
little huddled personal area we all pretend is private.
Just enough space in our seats to get lost, inside
looking out. In school I never minded being the first pickup on the bus route, it gave me time for quiet.
Today I am busy watching electric wires swoop. Their sagging middles are whizzing by fast enough to look like dancing, and soon comes sleep, expected and sudden.