Facing me, you sleep. “I woke too soon—
you shouldn’t wake me up so early ...” Yes,
I know, but I’d been dreaming and I guess
I had to hear your voice. It’s now mid-June,
midsummer almost. On the seat adjacent
a commuter reads a paper, chin on hand
and, showing maybe more than she had planned,
a miniskirted woman tugs, impatient,
at her hem, returns then to her book,
not noticing it’s slipped back up again.
A tepid breeze blows through the pane above you,
ruffling your hair, but you don’t stir. The train
is getting crowded. Everywhere I look:
these strangers who remind me how I love you.