terminus
lines converge
an isolating experience
like sightseeing
amongst the clouds
for lost associates

swooping down
with lithe movement
for the fumbled
ticket stub

i feel the swing
in my arms
legs
spine
in an arch that
encapsulates
all being

even though the
gate number on the
stub is
obscure

even though
I have no sense
of destination

I find myself with an unexpected sense
of being
grace
self

under
Southern Cross station's
undulating roof

indefinite direction
infinite possibilities
terminus