All These Rooms

ALMOST MORNING

Am wet. My old girlfriend’s apartment.
Looks the same. The street glints,
stained in rain. Tears. Look for stars.
None on the horizon.
Inside. She thrashes at her comforter.
Gets up, heads for the bathroom. Goes back to bed.

Dig the hide-a-key from the mail box. Go in.
Lift the blanket with with a finger. Lay down
slow. She groans
and rolls over. After a minute
I almost hold her. Move close
to sleep. No stars on
the horizon. The buildings block the stars.
Almost morning. Buildings…
the stars. Should be more
noise. I move. She shifts away.
The stars. To hold her. The horizon. Buildings
not mountains. Morning.
There should be more noise.