|Someone made little comedy/tragedy|
masks out of the O's in the railroad
station sign. This amuses me.
Private thoughts in the quiet car.
she lights, glowing rectangle flat on
her lap, redpainted nails dance as fingers
clutching the stylus make tiny gyrations, as if
self-ministering and old-time cure for madness.
Write and erase, write
and erase, write
a tiny tremor of joy ripples
through her whole body.
I look away from the upturned
corner of her lips, leaving her
in the afterglow.