Your fingers tendril within my mind

Trace across the tragic crevasses on his face

As we wait at the station,

Bathed in light and

Grace.

Every arrival, door swings open,

Steam from the engine perspiring by

Those impatient hopeful,

For just an ounce of change.

Why does life become boring?

Don’t be startled by the dog barking,

Coins falling, shuffling, shaking, swearing,

And sweating  is normal under

Pressures such as these.

Have you run your lines twice over

In your sweet head? Don’t forget to smile.

The stage you stand on,

The light in which you bathe

Is visible for miles,

For all to see

Your every move,

Through bus station window panes.

You carry so gently the burden of recognition,

When you brush cool black hairs from

Your brilliant eyes

And stable your mind with steel support beams you found

In the corners.