Reading Pad

Upon the bus I drift and glide
With papers open by my side
No desk to claim no room to spare
Just thoughts and pages in the air
The city rolls through glass and light
While figures bloom in quiet sight
A note takes root a question grows
A thread connects where insight flows
The engine hums the roads unfold
New ideas mix with echoes old
A little slate upon my lap
Becomes a bridge from map to map
— 31/05/26