Outside hurtles by in reflections
and streaked lights.
It’s a watercolour whirl out there,
all speed ripples and smudged lines.
Thirty humans wedged
side by side are blind
to the abstract scenery.
They are busy time traveling,
answering stale emails, texts,
and Facebook requests.
All embracing nonlinear living.
The engine slows,
and for one fleeting moment,
every face snaps up
toward the train doors.
Can they feel it?
That palpable click as
all thirty visits the same plane
of existence.
The sleek doors part,
and they deboard into art,
in step but disparate,
simultaneously
split.
pm poetry 