The window's aflame with sunset
but she isn't looking or really there.

She floats above the couch,
a hypnotist standing by

to catch her dreams. She's shivering,
afraid to close her eyes at night:

Will her lids burn, her images escape,
her eyes fly away, a pair of golden orioles?

The wakeful hypnotist falls asleep at last.
She drifts, the room too small to detain her.

She dreams of flying naked through the air,
unhindered by the costume of who she is.