Describe a lake as seen by a young man who has just committed murder. Do not mention the murder.

Two white curtains in a rented room

sit heavy on their dusty sill. Her body already aches

for this place, braces for the separation. The visa in her coat

is counting days.

At the window, she thinks of

two men who never saw this city, and tries to measure

how long she will watch the cars, smell the smoke,

rinse reminders off her palm.

America is only a place

where great aunts sewed dresses and great Depressions

hung fathers. She threw that story away

and came to the old world to breathe its harbor air.

Describe a city as seen

by a young woman who has lost.

Do not mention the loss.