Island

My balcony is an island
floating above city lights.
I see people floating by,
wheezing past my window,
traffic groaning into the night.

None of it touches
my balcony island.

I drown in my bathtub.
Press the sky.
Over my eyes.

And sleep.

My balcony-isle floats
the length of cityscape. 

I wade through the noise.
Weave myself a wreath.
Count lamp-posts till I meet
my Lancelot.

The city lights await,
his silhouette. 

My balcony-isle
collides and stops
at the bus-stop.