In the corridor in the train
tired women rip bread, unplug wine,
stir sleeping mates, who, roused, sip and bite,
spray crumbs like snowfall on the narrow floor,
someone fingers an untuned guitar, 4 am,
the soldier beside her shoos flies from her hair --
in the window, in the lilac dark, two faces:
cheeks brush bluish Pyrenees, faint jawlines
trace valleys, lips open on aloes
arching out of sand and time
for daybreak’s blush.