Station by Terry Cummings

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The people move all around with their noises.
Their sound becomes one and all is movement
The bag at my feet rests amongst fleeting shadows
And I wonder what it would be to close my eyes.
Am I transparent enough for that?

I chose a memory I like, something about you
Letting it run in favourable sequence
It makes me smile and I chose another, related
Another smile and time slips by.

Voices raise above the rest, talking times and places.
Louder than my thoughts, they knit me to the mass
As we share a message and disregard
A message meant for someone else.

I put my hands in my pockets for warmth.
And the time board in the station flutters
As a bird, butterfly, a bats hurry
It comes to rest and tells me to wait a little longer

I wait comfortably with my thoughts of you