What you mean by shelter
will not make sense to me until
I have written these secret appetites
across my open palms.
Until then, these cardboard boxes will have to do.
I will tape the corners together and hope they hold
against the wind and rain, against
the sound of my heart breaking
My voice is brown bear breath.
Oh, it is moonlight campfire hush
and I like it that way.
My heartbeat careens through the crosswalks
of my dreams, just one more ambulance
wailing into these sawdust hours.
We can make it one more night, can’t we?