Her leg hangs off the side of the bed
while the alarm clock on her dresser
resets itself to a flashing twelve.
She is dreaming about a day from her past
when a boy was sitting behind her in class
playing with her hair.
He is thinking about her too and the fog
that their visions are made from overlap
across the space between their eyes.
While working on an old van in the driveway,
at night, he glances at the sky to test his
memory of how she looked, by tracing
her face in the satellites
Teleporting Typewriter 