Bozeman, 1980
for Patrice
One lone pigeon white
Under the rafters’ eve
A mistaken dove
Two beds and a sink
A braille of crocheted curtains
And wind-darned rainfall
Your olive skin is the
Moistened context
Of fleeting exteriors
Our morning laughter like
Shards of light in chiaroscuro
The Inn at Chico
Letting you
For now
I felt my throat