The train slows as it nears the station,
through an underpass and back to light −
HOPE!
Yellow letters sprayed across a wall,
each one fenced in by a line of garish red.
I turn to my laptop screen − words
trying to chase a meaning, like pushing grit
through a sieve to find a comma of gold.
I think of the buzzard I saw earlier reading
a woodland. Its body floating on air.
On hold. Waiting for the tiniest light.
