Image of shelter



In the aisle seat, a young man in a dark suit
drifts in and out of dreams. Short hair, long lashes --

he has a profile perfect as a Greek statue's.
His hands are resting in his lap, his eyelids twitch,

his lips purse and unpurse (as in talking, or a kiss).
Nothing's more beautiful than a man asleep.

As long as he dreams, I can stare, and dream myself --
of what his chest must look like, how his back curves.

We fly over cities together, he in some faraway reverie,
me in close contemplation, while fiery orange fades

to dull gray outside the window. When we land I see
he has a hawk's dark eyes, and chews gum.


Poems page | The Biemiller Ice and Coal Co.