how to make the windows weep

Travelling
on the bus
to work,
the sky awash
in broad brushes.

Lights splitting
and punctuating
the dark canvas
of the street.

So it is
that I'm moving
through another day.

So it is
that moving
is nothing
but motion.

For on mornings like this
I am in stasis.

Thoughts bleed
into pure emotion
and weep
at the window. I wipe

at them but they insist
on abstraction.

And a bell
rings:

the calligraphy stroke
of the windscreen wipers
swipe
and swipe back
as we slow
to my stop,

So I step
into
the moving
masterpiece
of water
colour on sky.