Now she will feel mostly rain,
like a long wet whip put
across her face by an angry drunk,
for each of you will be exposure for the other.
Now there will be this aloneness,
for each of you will be absence to the other.
You are two persons with little life before you.
Go now to your big house behind its gate
to enter into the days
of your homelessness together,
where he will squeak about
on the PVC couch
he recently gave himself as a present,
in his brand new leather pants,
and mature to become
what the long brown coats
exiting the mortuary
years from now will call:
the terrible circumstances
in which she did her best.