Strangers Asleep on a Bus

Sand in the hourglass is slipping
In the beginning I couldn't guess which feet were mine
As the wind ran unseen fingers across my face
Under the shadow of a minor mountain.

The faint accent marks of farewell
Are prismatic bridal trains draped as veils of mist
Stars blink their hesitant hyphens
While clouds weave apostrophes over the moon.

Our landscape offers no panorama
Except views from drained cisterns
Limbs of leviathans as sycamores
Stretch to 30 degrees of sky.

Wood carvings crushed by wheelbarrows, sputters from his lips
As he mumbles of catfish and rice wine
Crossing cornfields while discreetly stepping through daffodils
In rustling weeds, choking on golden coins, a choice.

He removes his hand from mine,
And I feel naked without it;
My re-imagined past skated inside my eye lip
Whispers of dancing in the dawn; refracting pink morning
He does not know he has completed my sentence; neither do I.

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