Window seat in standard class
I was in London today. Getting there by train, I had these thoughts.
The pen is black.
If blue I might
have needed to stop
in order to decide
whether to continue.
I could have been
the day is saved.
Windows are for looking out and through,
but harsh train lights present my twin,
hovering over opposite tracks.
It's impossible not to see -
half-turned in acknowledgement -
dark circles under eyes,
pores like newsprint dots.
I would not choose this early start.
Beyond me sheep have woken to rain,
resisting dampness beneath railroad arches.
Creatures waiting to emerge from shadows.
Yesterday I caught a leaf
in my trouser turn-up.
Was it there all afternoon?
Or did it drop later with the rain?
Carried home in a thoughtful haze,
showing me how to attend to the world.
I scooped it out, a yellow veined disc,
embarrassed what else might have
been not-quite-concealed as we talked.
Crumbs from my lunchtime sandwich?
A crisp from the lunchtime before?
Once I found a paperclip.
I think I can be forgiven one small leaf.
Leaves will fall where they please.