Strangers On the Bus

Your world is just about to branch away from mine just as the two of them converged moments ago, and settled in; out of thousands that I see each day what makes me look at you across the aisle and trace your gaze into infinity? A commonality is far away. Did you once share a baby's wooden blocks and build a tower for his delight, to shatter down? ...and build again for yours? Did you forget? I look across the chasm of the consciousness that we might share, and see it widening. I see the numbers ranked like soldiers in your mind, your schedule crowding in, the memory of scent you know so well upon the girl you'll meet in the hotel at five. Our lives are not commodities we would exchange, yet still they sear the moment with their nonchalance, their downward glance, their inner lights of mutuality that filter down like dust, the likes of common friend, of taste, of faith—all silent hasting to their rest. There is no greeting, no goodbye, and no acknowledgement that either of us make. But there is thunder rushing in to our vacuity, resounding still, the cry of the pursuit in vain that you and I, the thoughtless hosts of mystery, will never entertain. ~