In mornings unwoken

A turn toward the sleeper

And presentations to eyes that will not open

Nor see to the chesty howling

Nor a smile shared on skin and other spaces

Tied to the arms moving violations

And subliminals creeping upon you through slats of sunlight and shaking eyelashes.

Dust that’s formed in the folding where the nose shades seep into blood vessels store the dreams nodding at coming days.

Bullet holes admired by tourists, defunct airports admired by tourists and the flashing bulbs which used to carry them away,