A stranger on the train sits, arousing me, Fitting the warmth of her knees inside mine, A pleasant feeling added to my sleep, Rocked by motions of the train. The stations pass, announced by stillness For which we shift and do not part, But press for closer contact, In courtship without words. As with the motion I feel a rising heat. Is it from her or me? I cannot tell. Nor can I tell if it is the train That moves her, or me. While trying still to seem asleep, And keeping to our careless pose, I am awake and so is she, Though saying naught and moving less, A silent courtesy exchanged, as if Were we to speak or move, This bond of strangers would not survive, But make us more and make us less. In time the journey ends and heat declines, As with a stretch she rises to depart. Allowed to act at last, I smile a bit, And shyly, briefly, so does she.