A man with a dark coat waits by station exit, his eyes bright as child holding a red balloon. His face, oiled by sun, is not stiff starched with indifference of everyday commute. The crowd stretches as elastic bands along train tracks. I yawn, hearing the cars floating by on the expressway. I smell coffee, stale bread and dried paint on someone's shoes. The ads above me, blink in blurry lines. Somewhere, I plant a fist of seeds.
against blue washed sky
moon is a white bud blooming
in the melting snow
Posted for D'verse Poets Pub - OpenLinkNight - A haibun for our new host, Bill Webb~ Thanks for the visit ~
