isa sits next to me
above the covers
waiting for it
i'm snug up to my neck
keeping the february air at bay
my loftbed
in a shared railroad apartment
sixth floor of
a cold water flat on east tenth
the street where beat poets
crashed on matresses
on floors in spartan tenements

looking to the east
she watches it every morning
the dark evening
giving way to paper light sky
until a juicy orange splash
bleeds upward from queens
rips through the pale wash of blue
and the crisp city air is new
with hope in tow
washing away
yesterday's regret