11:14 at State St. and Hudson
I saw you Tuesday at the bus stop,
sitting underneath a tree
that must have been green
before the summer crop
was taken. Hidden by your
bangs you watched a book
write pictures for your eyes.
I watched you from a back seat
waiting for your stop. But when
it came, I must have feared the rain
outside, or you must have enjoyed it,
because the ninety route drove on without your ticket.
I painted what I saw of you
with pastels on scraps of paper
hoping one day you may come
to see the face I made of you.
Then I rode the ninety bus and kept
my eyes out for the shedding tree. Once
I stopped and sat where you sat, hoping
to see what you saw in that book, but I
did not see the title of your story. Hoping to
see through time and know what you know
was impossible underneath that tree, and the concrete burned with
rain that blackened the asphalt where the ninety stopped.
Photo courtesy of http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/d/d5/Ithaca-Seneca_bus.JPG