Girl on the train
It is in a quiet corner, that I found you again.
This early night revealed you to me.
The sleepy traverse of train on track
sedating enough to unshackle focus.
It’s raining on others now, and I will
it to come closer, so I can see your face
behind a screen of miniature glass pears.
I’m coarse and obvious in my stare,
furtive, as I pretend to be gazing beyond, though
I would not paint you with embarrassment.
Damn the world and it’s happenings!
I cursed as you disappeared behind
the Evening Post, but watched still.
And when you re-appeared our eyes met
in the virtual, superimposed upon,
but not part of the passing trees and canal.
I won’t ever know your name, or hold you close.
But I look for that quiet corner,
and search for your reflection
in the train’s window, because your face is so pretty.