sitting in a railway carriage
going neither here nor there
coming backwards going forwards opposite your hair glows,
etruscan, epicene.
i lean towards the mountains
beyond the speeding train,
through the image of you
reflected on the montage of the window pane;
i suppose it's all a matter of the images that collide
within a given space
that gives the glitter to your eyes,
the sculpture to your face.
- Shelton Lea
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