She stares at a cloudburst

through the window of a blue bedroom.

 

Picking up the nightstand phone,

she speaks to someone

 

in another hemisphere,

innocent of where they are,

 

but tells them nonetheless,

You’re not in a good place

 

to be alone, as they drive

in the dusk down an unlit street

 

where crows pick bread

from the palm of a runaway

 

who watches her shoes vanish

beneath the blowing snow