Everywhere a Reflective Surface
I am on a train
I have a thought
that a feeling scurries along behind
There is light that enters this moment
as if someone took a highlighter to it
I am alone
or there is a body in every seat
but I know no one
Where did this happen
What is the name of the insignificant place
on which your memory snags
Oh, lovely! I especially like: "that a feeling scurries along behind" and "on which your memory snags." I get that hopeful-wistful train feeling, too, and feel it now, reading your poem.
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