Outside the Loop Line Window

The train window

takes my face and puts it

outside, floating

like a ghost staring back

from the passing static

and abruptly erupting city-scape

that hugs Osaka’s Loop Line curve.

I see me out there. My

face. My tint of skin. My 

recognizable biometric shadows: 

nose, jaw, cheeks and brow. I’ve become

this city’s low hanging sky.

That is me 

constantly filled 
by the flow of buildings, 
signage and lines on the street,

by platform lighting and expressions

of strangers flashing into the space

my head occupies. 

I look into their eyes 

as my eyes.

Their faces my faces.

If I focus beyond my gaze, 

I see all of Osaka passing through my face. 

It wears my nose, Paul Smith glasses and fucked-up hair-do.

Yellow-glowing parking lots. 

Pachinko parlors. 

Walls of apartment windows, 

each shining of a different light.

Umeda’s rectilineal rows of brake lights.

A dim, quick bedroom.

Polished steel trash cans.

All of this quiet city flows 

left to right within my skin and eyes, 

like dreams I am

having at this edge of history.

Thoughts and memories arise

in my watching, making me

of their image. 

by jerry gordon

12.23.2009