The intimate stranger

I was reading a dead man`s newspaper   
on the first train home     
    
Through the ink I read his spirit   
 walking highways lost   
    
His life lines were carved   
into the space of my palms   
    
His eyes were   
 tundras   
 of emptiness   
    
as his heart sank   
deeper   
against my skin   
    
He reminded me   
of hope   
He reminded me   
of all things   
human   


Dead bird     
floats the sea   
Starts     
to sing   
    
in lethardic sunlight   
    
This train has never left me since


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