To read a book forever would be ideal;
to sleep, more so.
We, like sadness, sit still
and mind our own business;
we just look. Like now:
a coughing child,
reaching like sadness for more popcorn,
hugging his dad, squiggling,
squirming, balancing his arm on my shoe
like sadness, looking at me
smiling as I glance his way pausedly.
The air through the windows,
pushing as one pushes a piano,
as sadness; plastic seats
with felt covers; trains always
opening, closing, moving forward like sadness:
the beards we grow and wear
like sadness.
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