The fleeting glimpse
is the most telling.
What may not reveal itself
in hours of close
observation, is
present then, in fullness,
compelling, self
authenticating.
An effect of fragmentary
transits, the flash of lit
windows seen from a train,
revealing dim, private
interiors.
An abrupt gesture, for
all time a woman
turning away from a
man’s outspread hands.
Another’s face listless
canvas to the flicker of a screen.
Or today, through the
glass of a bus a young man
caught for an instant seated
on a wall, hands limply
folded, his face
brimming with unspoken
misery.
Before the heart could
ask what? why?
mere motion had stolen
him away, but
in the night I see those
eyes, and pray.
