Oh god of puddles spreading into the entryway,
what if I just sit here and hold her until the towels
are full to bursting and we’ve forgotten to move
and speak but have passed a piece of loose leaf paper
back and forth between us? Sit down with us and be
an architect, make us coffee, change the channel,
make the ailanthus sway in a pool of yellow, wet,
cold, lit from below, a woman throwing her hands
back over her head. It’s morning again,
and we both have our chances.
Make this train go and go.