I'm sitting alone on the bus at the stop while
the driver sucks on a ciggie beneath the shelter.
Outside: a cold that leaves
the fingers and the face aching.
Stuck in quietness: magical stasis. Wait.
And then, as the passengers
step up and on one by one
a writing hand is disenchanted.
Words are placed in lines.
This is now and we all know
where we're going to but
don't want to talk about it thank you very much.