You lean against the train's side wall,
Sinking deep into slumber,
Glasses perched upon your face.
Wallet rests on the table, // as the train sways to and fro,
like drifting on water, // defenseless in sleep.
Your mouth slightly parts,
Breathing in dancing sunlight beyond the window,
I watch golden reeds // by the water's edge,
Branches like chicken claws between them,
Holding up a misty blue sheet.

The train halts at Providence, // Rhode Island, smallest of all states.
So small, Yet dreams so // vast. I glimpse the station sign.
News tells of a fallen tree, // Forced to linger here,
Duration unknown. I step from the station, // eyes scanning all around,
This quiet town // with just one breakfast place awake,
Perhaps only because it's Saturday.

I trace the map, wander // through each crowded plaza,
Each street, wrapped in lethargy,
That pulls one down toward sleep; // figures slouch on columns,
Against lampposts, eyelids drawn.
The sun, too, hides // behind veils of cloud;
Through lenses, eyes rest on painful, // wrinkled sculptures,
Lethargic souls and verdant structures.
Devotees at street corners // share bread from Italy.
The town drowns in idleness and languor,
Identical block towers line the thoroughfares,
In lethargy all seems asleep.
The train dormant at its station,
Glasses still, upon the face.