Leaning my head against the train window,
closing my eyes to try and get a short nap,
the morning sun and shadow flicker violently against my eyelids
and I remember why I hate riding on this side of the train.
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Driving to catch the 7:46 I project my own desire
for quiet time with God on the man in a suit with a pepper beard,
floating through the mist, wearing a Taqiyah and weaving
his prayer beads around his wrists and hands.
