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T o n y P r e s s
O n t h e L a t e B u s
ahead of me
on the late bus to Bristol
the woman leaned her head
upon the rain-smeared window
and surrendered herself to sleep
I was reading,
no, fighting through
a novel an ex had given me,
when grace feathered my hands
wisps of a ponytail,
the ends of ten golden inches,
kissed my book-cradling fingers
I held pose
as if meditating
until her awakening
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