Portrait: The Man on the Bus Who Was Reading Poetry

He held the book two-handed

like it might get away.

Moved his lips a little.

Smiled at something private

then looked up to check

if anyone noticed.

No one did, except me.

I thought about asking what page.

But some things deserve to stay

exactly where they are:

undisturbed, interior,

belonging entirely to the person

who found them.