Girl on a Train

In my reverie...
she was an angel
fallen from grace,
shyly fingering
a golden harp...

head bowed;
an open book
gently resting
on the pale lectern
of her hands.

The glance she stole
at me, like a fluffy
dandelion seed,
floating
on the breeze;

eyelids stuttering
in the draught
of a window,
slightly ajar.

Her face
reflected
in the glass;
those eyes

mascara smudged
with that ‘faraway look’ –
could have been anywhere
but on that train.

A spectre
stained
with shadow shades,
shimmering
through raindrops.