On the subway I try to avoid the sleepers
leaning into me with an intimacy
that would shame them.

A brown business suited man
with a broken lace fell asleep
on the pages of The Darkness

Around Us Is Deep resting
on my lap. He woke to the noise
of subway doors and made an exit

without looking back at his pillow.
Once I slept, my head pressed
into my husband’s sweater, his

curled on my parted hair.
It was not the same as the man
wearing only loose overalls,

who tilted his snoring mouth
towards me, his arms on my lap,
flesh foreign against mine.