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Beautiful

I watched the different shapes
Glide on and off the bus-
Tall ones with a slow and sultry slither,
Pin straight strands tracing the shoulders
Of youth;
Plump and matronly ones,
With a slow and steady stride, taking inventory
Of each empty seat;
and short, stout, but curvy ones,
with a bouncy air, chatting in circles in the back.
I tried to tell myself that we’re all just shapes,
colors and contours moving like shadows across the transom of the world,
And that beauty was perhaps applicable to something else-
A lucid cameo upon the glass, beneath a streetlamp,
With a draped pearl necklace of bridge lights.