last night I was actually
inside the helicopter
soaring haphazardly through green
rolling hills, as if
with a remote control

the beautiful immunity of dreams
Concern, just barely
poking through the clouds

one lousy thought
about distance and
we’re having sex
in the bed inside
the restaurant

I touched every brass knob
every wooden rail
the dirty pink tile
all the pens on the table

concern for distance
fell off of me like
a loose towel

the helicopter ride back was more official

with a departure time

shame fell off or
shame was stuffed
into my puffer
it was (is) winter

looking back
on no hard feelings
just the silky ease of that series
the pencil holes in the paper