Shaking and clumsy, fumbling in the dark she
carefully crawls over the bed,
like a snake, her lover’s sleeping form twitches and rolls.
Crusted, liquid eyes struggle
to find the shape of the door
in a room she’s been too many times
thirteen years and more.
The bottles there are empty now,
the cool spring where they laughed
and bid each other drink, and be merry.
They were students then.

Now the wallpaper’s peeling, the winter wind is howling
at the thin glass windowpane.
She finds the door,
leans on it, spilling into the hall.
The bathroom light’s too bright for her
but she can just barely see
the fading summer sun.