events of the day--
the body covered in the
yellow plastic sheet beside
the train tracks,
the policemen with their
notebooks and measuring tape;
the wars, the news, the way
we are all heading, somehow.
Rather, I'll pause upon the way we
read our papers in the train,
these sips of coffee and
lines of sliding traffic,
the way the sun slants
in, and the air is cold
on my morning face;
the looks across the aisle,
the smell of our human
breath, rising in one early
cloud over the span of our creations;
The way we hum and teem across the
surface of a fragile rock
amid the middle of a vast nothing.
That haunts me so
much more.
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