sleepless in airports

walking down half-familiar streets

I’ve travelled across

enough cities by now to know the depth and texture

of darkness when my prickly eyes have barely closed

all night

early morning cab rides

reading the newspaper over my fellow commuter’s shoulder

my dreams look more like itineraries

from travel movies

these days

and home becomes wherever my luggage returns to

if it hasn’t been lost

a year and a half of changed addresses

newly-memorized phone numbers

and plane ticket stubs found in coat pockets weeks later

in transit, I learn not to hold on

too long to any particular picture frame

leave a sliver behind every time

to find my way back in the morning