To the Artist's Page                To our home page

To Royce Sykes's previous piece     To Royce Sykes's next piece

Watching Her Watching

She rests her head against a window;
some pounds past arbitrary standards 
loosely wrapped in faded denim, silver 
vinyl and flesh of Mediterranean hue. 
Her hair reminds me of ravens dancing;
nose of Gallic length and sinuosity as 
if once broken, then indifferently set.
Beneath wide, dark lips and square jaw
lurks the prelude to a double chin.
Short, clear fingernails tap lightly
upon her thigh rhythms only she hears.
Yet, it's to her eyes I return time
and again, startling mutable blues 
containing the colors of sky and sea 
and horizon where they meet in gaze
beyond the open urban sores through
which this Metrolink slowly slices.
What memories, what thoughts, what
dreams untold unfold within her view?
I feel as if I could almost love her
then, but somehow find more comfort
when she leaves the car and flies
into the arms of a tall, young man.
He, too, must see beyond the illusions
of apparent reality, or so I hope, for
seeing them there in that embrace and 
loving stare, I feel a little less lonely.

To the top of this page