I see
I observe
Information floods my banks
And I continue on.

But, you see,
I saw you,
Sitting there:
Gazing out the bus window.

Instead of storing.
Moving on.
I stop.
Watch on.

"Beauty"
Not in my syntax,
Nor in my archive.
So I watch on.

Brown hair
Deep eyes
Many of these archived
So I keep on--

Why
This order
Of things?
I think on.

Her pensive look.
Sad
I suppose.
Ponder on.

Her hand,
Chin resting on.
A sigh lifts her form
Breathe on.

Bus heaves.
A stop?
She glances:
Leave on.

I catch a whisp of her leave,
Her hair weaves through the crowd.
No, she can't leave.
Follow on.

But the crowd was too deep,
Like an ink drop,
Back to it's phial
Indistinguishable.

Opportunity, gone.
I see,
I observe
Information floods my banks.

And I, sadly,
continue on.

I do not know which to prefer,
The beauty of the experience
Or the beauty of memory
The small time I knew her,
Or the time after.