(for hélène and shiva)
i found the walls blue, stickered with long-stemmed
tulips; scrubbed the smell out with wet wipes, but the window
dust streaks stayed – ancient, unreachable. i brought
good faith, the bed with a broken board, the big chair. what i left
is gone in a van, under varnish, to pieces.
last spring, out of the taxi with two suitcases
and three boxes, i dreamt of permanence. now i know better.
or worse. it`s just seasonal heartbreak, perfumed
with sweat, lindens and earth after rain. tout va être correct.
along every street cabinets, chairs, soft worn sofas wait
to be rechosen. all these chance meetings.
i cross st joseph holding traffic, holding a writing desk
above my head. my new roomie finds an armoir coin Gilford
et Chabot, and guards it til enough passer-bys have stopped to help
push it home. for me. more plants, rug, plastic hangers, the cat
and the laptop`s unison purr. and suddenly here`s everything
again, even absences carried over, vivid-shimmery, dancing
like lights above treasures.