as easy as the center of May. She turns
in her space, strumming her fingers out
across the edges of herself, then smiles.
The train slides in to the next town —
just another town spinning exactly back
to where it was twenty-four hours before —
and out, steady as the tide. Inside
school girls in their sailorette pleats
gaze through their bangs at the floor,
the businessmen try to climb out
of the cages of themselves to stare,
and fail, and young mothers strapped
to their children stare into the dark
of their own reflection. An empty bottle
of electric soda rolls across the floor.
This train rolls on across the world.
Suddenly — the girl with the asterisk hair
flings open a window and goes spinning
into the night, a star unto herself.