Nocturne with Choreography for DepartureStreetcar wires sing steel nocturnes
promising the mystery of travel. Sitting cornered
in chiaroscuro, he anticipates her choreography.
She’ll enter like this: penetrating his half-dark,
a froth of black hair
beating the white shore of her face.
The hard cinnamon-sound of her name will crack
in his teeth as she slides like ice across the floor,
dangerous in high heels.
He waits in silence, memory lit indigo, tangerine:
She will enter, smile cracking carmine