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like a famished butterfly. No nurture,
no nourishment left for Kristina.
A vacation is a poor substitute
for love.
Two Hours into the Flight
Albert snored, soft
as a hummingbird’s
hover. His moody
smile suggested he’d
found his Genevieve,
just beyond time
just beyond space
just beyond this continuum.
I watched his face,
gentled by dreams,
until sun winks off
the polished fuselage
hypnotized me,
not quite asleep
not quite conscious
not quite in this dimension.
I coasted along a
byway, memory,
glimpses of truth
speed bumps
within childish
belief,
almost ultimate
almost reliable
almost total insanity.
