Ticket 2 Ride

Maybe it’s me, or perhaps it’s she

Through the snow and interference

Every night at the stoke of one

Her ghostly image makes an appearance

—

She has a lonesome, disembodied tone

Climbing down from my dream

The sand still coating my blurry eyes

At six she disappears back into the stream

—

She arrives with patriotic fanfare

I stare into her noncommittal glance

One of us is simmering with ideas

The other is deep into a trance

—

No wonder sleep escapes me

Little conversation, but we know

We are of the same frequency

Quietly basking in our shared glow