dreams of airports

last night I dreamed
that we were stranded in an airport
a glittering tomb of glass and steel.
you slept
I wrote
trying to capture the ghosts
hidden
behind impossible angles
the glare
of a soda machine
and the hum
of overhead lights.
when you woke
you read my words
and asked
"why am I not in your poem?"
"you are in the poem,"
I replied.
"the poem is you."