If you’d looked
out the window,
at the white outcroppings
along the bluff,
stone castles rising
from the weeds, you’d have
seen my eyes reflected,
glowing in the glass.
In sleep, did you feel
the coast circling
Ireland, our green
tour bus shaking
with the tire-rattle
of rubber on gravel,
your cheek bobbing
on my shoulder?
I imagine you dreamed then
as I once did, boldly:
as the bus rocked us
up and down,
wishes like yellow
wildflowers trapped
between crags of limestone
at the bus’s last stop.
out the window,
at the white outcroppings
along the bluff,
stone castles rising
from the weeds, you’d have
seen my eyes reflected,
glowing in the glass.
In sleep, did you feel
the coast circling
Ireland, our green
tour bus shaking
with the tire-rattle
of rubber on gravel,
your cheek bobbing
on my shoulder?
I imagine you dreamed then
as I once did, boldly:
as the bus rocked us
up and down,
wishes like yellow
wildflowers trapped
between crags of limestone
at the bus’s last stop.