On the bus


in the mornings
my nose stings as it adjusts to the warmth
I put my earbuds in
the lights turn off
and the streetlights beam through the condensation
their orangey light burns the shadows flashing on the gray walls
sometimes a silver-blue porch light will turn on
and pour its fake moonlight onto the walls

silhouetting us
And in the summer
it's light outside
you can see the sun rise
the cold blue matches the mountains
the pink and orange paint the morning
and I wonder why nobody ever looks-really looks at it except me
because something as perfect as that deserves to be seen
And then I realize

that I'm the only one
imperfect enough
to need it.