9.11.11
sitting back to back with strangers.
face to face, noses buried in books.
eyes dreaming of distant realities and
hands tied with children and responsibility.
but there is levity, excitement
a thrown together fellowship
with everything different
but flight in common.
thousands of words, vocal currencies
that don't match.
nothing is the same, except the going
and we go together.
this is a magical place
where time is bound
and yet is slows,
a doldrum of sorts.
strangers become visiting neighbors
and traveling companions.
tales are traded across aisles
joys and sorrows opened for a short window of time.
but the kinship is momentary,
baggage drags heavily across dirty floors.
buses roar. wind whips wildly
outside the stale solace.
neighbors drift back into strangers,
the fellowship is broken.
all the stories slowly fold
back up into themselves.
and the noise becomes silence.
