7:15, tide raised:
Surfing in the wave
of the crowd,
The station doesn’t
seem to have space
to stand still.
Bouncing onto
each other like penguins,
Finally able
to get on the train;
The pressure of air
keeps one remembering
breathing.
Washed out by
the flood of people;
Drifting with
the mob, floating
back to the surface.
As violent as the
Waves seem,
In a small
valley road
was able to find
some peace.
As marvelous as the
tide seems
as a whole;
Yet each is
an individual drop;
Feeling at home.