churning clouds
steeped in night
a murder of crows
caws and croaks
above a train stop
black wingbeats
mingle with the threat
of rainfall and thunder
the sky overflows
thrice with darkness
but the light of dawn
gleams deep beneath
a February wind
chills the legs
of a young woman
waiting silently
in stockings and
a short leather coat
over a loose pullover
and a fish bone skirt:
a band of whiteness
amidst black cloth
still no light
for her glasses
to reflect
but the embers
of a cigarette,
now between her lips
but soon flung
onto the platform
the black collar
around her pale neck:
as much of a question
as the colour of her eyes,
void of reflections unlike
her brown-blonde hair
there’s a quickness
in her step when
the train arrives
and she climbs aboard
for a moment her face
agleam with warm light