The Vagabond’s Aubade

“What about Seattle?” she says,

“Too much rain,” I say

And the lightning flares outside anew. She says

We can live as ambulance chasers

for our own wrecked lives.

She says someone has to pay.

And now

She is unfolding dog-eared dreams

And taking down the paper lanterns,

“Italy maybe? I’ve always wanted to study abroad.”

Meanwhile it is after five,

And the gray sky threatens

To shuck its husk

And give way to pink genesis.

The boxes are stacked in the hallway,

unmoving buoys for my memory’s sake.

“Somewhere in Vermont maybe?” Slips

Off her wine soaked lips

And her mouth tastes of synagogues

And packing tape she ripped

With her bare teeth.  

Fuck Vermont, I say, and the flash of dawn.

They can wait

Outside our wet bedroom windows.

Cold hands against warm waist cannot.

Her limbs spread crookedly. Blind

mouth searching as if for mother’s bosom

And she, more raw than this dawn.