glass

night-train-11

 
An aisle and a veil of black hair apart.

Lost in her book,
I imagined her story.
She caught me watching,
So I turned, to the window.
An uninvited guest,
wanting to be known.

A window, an aisle and veil of black hair apart.

Within the window,
her face glowed in the scene.
Leaves twirled in chaos,
around her living portrait
whilst she was silent.
‘Til her hair fell from her ear
disguising her face,
in a subtle, secret place.

A window, an aisle and a veil of black hair apart.

The earth imbibed the day,
within the mirror.
Amongst mountains and clouds
and cosmic expanse
her face emerged in the night.
With the hurtling train,
and chaos of fallen leaves
amongst false longing
and her, in constant stillness
I saw time passing.

A mirror, a window, an aisle and a veil of black hair apart.

When the train had stopped,
I looked away from the glass,
and down to my shoes.
‘Til the train began to move
and back in the mirror
Her face was gone from the scene.

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