the sun

I am on the train and I am watching this rather I think striking dark-haired 
	woman sitting facing the sun
and she's wearing black rimmed glasses, but I can see her lashes clearly where 
	her eyes are closed
in the bright light - her face is projected towards it, the way plants grow or 
	the earth falls towards
and she seems to be in rapture, as if beneath her eyelids the sun becomes 
	transcendent, more beautiful - 
she is a living painting of the sun; she is the breathing earthly embodiment;
	a daughter of light;
her olive skin glows with it, but then the train isn't above ground anymore 
	and it's suddenly dark 
and as soon as the sun leaves her face her green eyes open and she's looking 
	straight at me, and I realize 
I've been staring at her all this time and we self-consciously, clumsily,
	look away to different windows



© 1999 josh buermann