Three Thoughts While Riding a Bus
Thought 1
The bar is round
But it does not feel round in my hand.
The bar must be round
But it feels like an elliptical cylinder.
This is a game of motion and momentum;
There is a window, a bar and a shifting floor
Which you must use to stand and not fall.
And through this window there is a sight
From which you will not be able to tear your eyes
For the world siding past through an aperture
Is another from the one standing still, surrounding.
Thought 2
This face holds a specific position
Like a mask, when the head moves, it follows, motionless.
This face glows a specific hue
Like a mask, there are no eyes, but dark hollows.
Silently, it leans gently on glass
Bathed in sunlight, beautiful and
artificial, like an overblown, high contrast photograph.
It is not a face, but a sun—
So it seems, as my eyes slowly close
—it is a star, with rays of its own
And warmth; fiery, life-giving, impossible to behold.
Thought 3
Swept over wet pavement, the wind
blowing through the window ajar, is cool and fresh.
Cutting like ice over tear-moistened eyes
Touching strands of hair, it caresses.
I know this wind; my planet
Has made a revolution and a little more since I last felt
Its tresses smother my respiration.
It is the very same air that rushed through my lungs
When sweet weight fell onto me and cold water
Dripped from my fingers and glittered in the sun.
I step out into this air, with the sun shining on me.
