Braving the Wilds

The east and west-bound trains stand parallel to one another

As the evening reflects images of passengers

on the doubled glass:

New York-bound adventurers ghosting those

Headed home.

A faint double of teenagers, smooth faced and

Chirping about a boy band

Self-consciously bobs over an exhausted

Suit, seemingly dead but infantile and sweet

In his own unconsciousness.

The New York Times, belonging to the chaperone

Shrouds the flesh of a woman engrossed in her paperback.

An apparition in the glass hovers eerily

Over the West-bound man in an open collar, throwing his head back

In laughter. The woman seated next to him shines

Like a switch light, her own bobbing head kissing

The suggestion of another seated East bound,

Unaware of their intimate connection.

Each soul is a mystery yet all are governed

By love.

They travel in packs, sleep next to strangers

In isolation with a suggestion of connection.

One furrowed brow that lay cranked over a bow tie and tweed coat

Stares blankly out the window as the cars jerk to life.

He flattens his palm to the window, like a

Gesture of Peace,

Unclear if he reaches for the woman opposite him

Or the reflection of his own eyes.

Here can be found  all-encompasing Goodness:

Of every lonely soul headed to the City for adventure

And every tired one seeking solace

At home.