1.
The freckled morning
                       moving into day now,
I stand at the window half dressed,
watching the snow melt as quickly as it falls.

A hundred blank windows
in the building now going up across the street
look back at me.
My expression is as empty as theirs,
as the long slow business
of learning how to live alone begins again.

2.
The shadowed afternoon
                      moving into night now,
I close the door behind me
and hurry down the stairs.

You know
Saturday night is better than Friday.
If you don’t make out
you can take home
the great American consolation prize,
thirty cents worth of love,
                   the Sunday paper.