My home becomes dark. It is small. It clutters
easily. I cleaned it deep today, then I walked
to the Mississippi, and watched the river move.

I once lived in a windowless room
with strangers. We worked together,
and were housed there. I met a woman then,

drinking by a river, on a roiling night. We kissed
and it meant nothing. She spoke only French,
and so, we did not speak.

We were approached by several street cats.
I knelt: small genuflection. I put out my hand.
She kicked one hard in the side

when it neared her shin. I said, Stop,
and that was all I said. Later, making love
in her bed, she said I could never love you

in a language I understood. In the morning
we were silent. We drank coffee.
I felt her lips on my cheek in the sun.