At one point I was dreaming,
my eyes turned upward
and inward, so I like to think that
in my dream of hotels
when we rubbed each other's arms and
we were crickets, puttering
about old tunes that rhyme or don't,
we stood still
though the hotel had moved,
painfully aware of itself and blushing,
so then disappearing awkwardly
and I, bereft of touch--
then to wake with longing
in the mouth and eyes and therefore
mustering energy to
keep awake in this goddamn lovely
morning, the not being
the difficulty of sleep.
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