Sleeping Through Time Zones

I fall asleep diagonal—
my head at eleven,
my feet at five,
and throughout the night
the time changes—
incidental increments
of coincidental time,
as I move forward and back,
collecting stamps in my passport.
Where have I been?
Where am I going?
The train never stops,
even at borders
that slip away at night
while the guards sleep,
and I cross every time zone,
sleep arrested—

wondering what time it is
wondering what time is.



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