motel on the isthmus


she can’t stand how rain
leaves signatures on her windows:

meticulously she arranges
those drops into tidy rows

while storms look relentlessly
for somewhere to recline.


he looks out at a sea
that hasn’t quite changed his heart.

then sleeps, waking up at midnight,
his true destination.

only then does he unlock
the door to the next room,

waiting for the stranger there
to open theirs.