you like to see people
at the train station going
home. the heavy bag
pulled behind them
on wheels, a satchel
in hand. the weariness
of travel on them.
the spark of arrival
dimmed, the visit over,
the memory not yet warmed
or sunk in.
the window seat will
be a good place
to sleep and ponder
if one can do this again.
Thursday, April 2, 2015
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