… the woman's eyes fixed upon the animals. Her pantsuit was wrinkled and torn, her face grimy, her bobbed hair mussed. Yet she sat ram-rod straight and nodded, as if receiving important instructions.

We could collapse it, the umbrella,
and not get wet. But we hold it aloft
between us so we can be close.

During the week we eloped, your eyes bulged
as shiny and sleepless as supermoons,
then you asked if I were dead, sounding doubtful
and agitated like everyone who meets me.