The Passing Glimpse
I often see humans from the railroad's side.
But they ride by so fast, while I stay here and hide.
I want to rip out my roots and say hello,
but I'm a plant, so there you go.
One man I saw, I don't know his name.
So I named what he wasn't to keep myslef sane.
He wasn't Billy or Johnny or Joel.
He definitely wasn't Bobby or Arthur or Cole.
Not Phil and not Frank, not Anne or Colleen,
Could a thought have brushed past me so wistfully and clean?
Heaven gives closer looks,
only to plants with legs.