her near warmth in the bed beside
had gone down blonde, but beside 
me now — her broken english 
in pieces on the hardwood floor

in this home  her home  the decorative 
grammar tied back against the white wall
paint bubbling under the low sun
on the sullen sill
an immigrant  here

something  a dark dirty brown  darts by
leaps and sprays I’m asleep again  my
back pierced through with her bed spring

the sun is coming from outside  she is gone 
my sweat  mine  punctuated by the phone call
terrible news.