The apparition of these faces in the crowd;*
Shifting ghosts, gliding in and out of sliding doors.
Shifting ghosts, gliding in and out of sliding doors.
Carrying briefcases, children, coffees,
their faces hazy, fleshy features morphing together,
moving in and out of private moments. I slip in on their thoughts,
read the lines of
facial creases like a text;
stranger’s faces become literature for the daily commute.
*From Ezra Pound's "In a Station of the Metro"
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