I Tried To Catch Her Eye

The train makes her hair quiver.
The fields, through the window,
are blurry green, slides studded with stock.

She has a calico shoulder bag. It looks like books;
spines sticking out

The fields give way to houses; squat blobs
and grey roofs and old cars dying on their backs.

I tried to catch her eye.
She turns away.

The station buildings hunch over the platform’s endless grey.

She turns and the sun makes diamonds in her hair.

The train never stops.
It rolls through the night, my sleep, my dreams.
She was in my dream: standing at a window.
Waving.