Another bus journey

[squirmelia]

This is to the trees that are coming towards me, trying to reach out, shake their leaves inside. This is to the puddles that still glisten on the double yellow lines, but can't touch me because I'm sitting on a bus. Little man wearing an orange shirt and a red cycle helmet, you're going a different way. The traffic lights floating somehow in the sky, I know they're for me, as the person sitting at the front, I get to see it all, my view is so wide. I'm waiting for you, here at this corner, with the gasping of stickmen, on this bus with its chirps of canaries instead of deep rattling, but me, trembling in time with its journey.