Sleepover

Ida and Isidor Straus sleep side by side

eternally in an Egyptian galley

fronting their Woodlawn mausoleum.

Symbolically they lie. Their boat is small;

nor was her body recovered from the Titanic.

And yet the image of the voyage holds.

Why not embark? A river runs behind me

on the other side of this dark window.

A dream called Night Boat

arranged us side by side in a black craft,

sailing the river of forgetfulness

until the stars went out.

It was poetic license. I didn’t dream that boat.

The boat was dream, and we were passengers

balanced on the slippery cusp of daylight,

unless you had already disembarked

in some shadowy port,

leaving me to sail along alone.