My love disappears
around a corner of yellow
streetlamp.
Engaged with his phone,
someone speaks as he walks
into the night and his native streets.
Nothing but dogs and radios
through everyone’s iron-barred windows.
I want to run and follow, but won’t.
I sit on the concrete, my bare legs
mosquito bitten.
In a dip of quiet,
a man’s voice rises.
A woman’s voice rises back.
The dogs begin again.
A constant wind from the mountain
combs over my worry
but my love returns quick,
offers his hand to lift
my body and the moon it carries.
Then he looks to sky, away.
Already from the window
someone is calling his name.