A Small Curve

The bus was late. The usual wait.

I watched the girl ahead, her gait

a little tired. The way her hair,

a dark fall, settled just right there,

along the nape.

A subtle line,

where skin met shadow, so divine

in its plainness. The sun hit

the edge of her ear, a brief, faint bit

of light.

I watched her stand, so still,

against the noise, against the chill

of evening. Just that curve,

a quiet gesture, without nerve.