westbound

at 6:30

everything is golden

even the mousey white man’s glasses

reflecting through the window screen

flashes theses projections

shifting shadows

blind or beaming their yellow shards

soldering my mind to them

with each turn

our eyes perceive intrinsically altered views

reflections on the salted body

then its dark and grey in the shade of kuli’ou’ou

and the sky

is oil above her indifferent arms

this is my time

and I would sleep all day till 6, never waking

I’d take

the route 23

like a photo, gunnin’ the shuttering seats carefully

in the evening

when everything is beautiful

even isolation