A long time ago I wrote a simple poem that I titled simply "Portrait #1". Over the years I've come to consider that poem one of my own personal favorites. Perhaps because of that, I like to title certain types of poems with "Portrait" in it. The following is one of those poems; I hope you enjoy it!
Portrait of a Young Traveler
The child sleeps in a foreign bed;
his suitcase yawns on the rigid floor;
his clothes are jumbled like bed-hair;
and his days are mixed in his bag
until morning is night and night, morning.
His eyes are closed like airplane windows,
too tired to watch the chase of the sun
or the dreamy forest like a blanket beneath him;
his hands pull the covers close around his head
because summer is winter and winter, summer.
You can find him within the door of that room;
he hears the opening of an old hinge;
he stirs within the thin blue sheets
and counts the seconds of your retreating steps
for today is tomorrow and tomorrow, today.
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