The sheer number of worlds

I took the late train one Tuesday
Returning home to school.
I fell asleep before the conductor
punched holes in the tickets.
Hours later, I woke up to find myself
the train's window reflection
huge, galvanic proportions marred
by hard rains pounding train glass.

The night sun appeared quietly
in the background, as the rains
fell unevenly on the other side.
Outside were the dark, faint
outlines of farmhouses, orange
lights, black trees. As my eyes
searched, I saw my face as well.

A girl next to me, who'd woken
up from her own private dreams
started playing with her fingers.
I stared intently at the glass, looking
at her weaving fingers, my eyes, and
the rains. Somehow, three worlds
lived inside this marvelous glass, I
thought, as rains quickened traces
into indentations on the outsides.


Note: I was on the train today, and I thought about the beauty of Kawabata's image of so many worlds in train glass (in his novel 'Snow Country'). I found it particularly beautiful that he was able to so adeptly paint a portrait of something we so often take for granted and simply look past on our ways to somewhere else.