Faces
in the morning, ready to enter the train. Their beauty alone is enough, in the
sunlight. Faces pent up with some knot of thoughts I will never know. Faces
resigned to Friday or fickle August, sunny one moment, rainy the next.
Well-washed and combed, they stand out in the crowd, each one of them. They
enter the train, find seats or bunch up. Faces keen for their screen and thumb.
Faces still mildly asleep, a couple of them. Faces in repose, closed books.
Faces, almond-like, smiling at the contained beauty of Jolimont Station. Faces
I will see next week.
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