Garb
Her clothes have left her.
They have crossed the floor,
riding a camel train of shadows.
Tights have twisted to fleshy mounds.
A bra gawps twice, spine bent.
Shoes topple over drunken heels.
A black dress climbs a black chair.
A vision of him closing the door
behind parting words.
She roams the apartment,
picks up strays
gathering together
whatever yesterday wore,
not wanting those things
to follow her into dawn.
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