Around One: Late Friday Subway Notes
       

Hands in your pockets you're frozen
in a tight shape, a constant lurch
and your hat a broken cake, the brim
first, then the fireworks of your hair,
the rest of it leaning away
from the perfect peace of your face
held just below a view of rushing.
But wrapped in thin dreams you race blissful
down the cold spine of the city
just the small rise and fall of your chest.

I saw the bubble of peace, the shell
protecting you. Fragile, destined
to be lost - you may not even remember
it after you wake and sink back into
what plagues you — your web of knowing.
But not yet, not yet, wait
while I come home to fold these words
into a silent paper boat.

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Copyright © 2012 Alex Boyd All rights reserved
from The Least Important Man
Biblioasis
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission