Blake Leland

Lovers, Romania, 1975


Henri Cartier-Bresson

According to his wristwatch
It is almost 2 am.
They are sleeping on the train:
Legs spread wide he’s braced himself
Against the seatback, and she
Curls up on the seat beside him
Her head pillowed on his chest
Her right hand at her temple
As if she ponders something
In her sleep, while he childlike
Crooks his arm about her neck
Holding tight in his dream
To something plush – some doll or toy.

They are right beside a window
But see nothing now of the night outside
In the moment they are being seen.



Blake Leland teaches at Georgia Tech and has had poetry published in Epoch, The New Yorker, Commonweal, Atlanta Review, and Indiana Review. He was once nominated for a Pushcart Prize. In 2013 he contributed to a selection of occasional poems: On Occasion: Four Poets, One Year.