Hallways, Roads, Waves

My hotel bed is making waves
the back and forth sun and burn
from hours ago, a lake’s worth
of laughter marking my skin.

In another house a portrait has
left its frame. We slip the burden
of youth though it catches and clings.
We dream for all the ways to be.

I turn over, turn tides and sheets
in my sleep, think of every fall ever made
blues and blacks tinging my limbs
a misunderstanding of the times.

All those hallways dressed in photos
somehow brought us here as guests
in the dip and stir of strange sheets.
Our bodies read the stories of the day

Every bump scratch and jostle
like braille under the skin, retelling
each moment. It’s the only way
I know how to rest.