Saturday morning commuter

Saturday morning underground
Commuters stare at
Screens
Relieved to escape
The pain of 
Seeing each other
The terror in the eyes 
And the love that might have been
Could yet be

A train trundling down metal tracks towards its next stop
Auschwitz maybe
Or some other limit with a different name

One man seems lost in prayer
Fingers and palms pressed together 
Pointing towards something higher
A kind of bliss
But when our lazy gazes 
Meet and kiss

I see  
He looks as tired as me