Aubade
Ants traverse over
fingertip mountains,
as Dayspring swallows
our silent sleep
through the sheer
nylon of our tangerine
tent, baking
under the filtered
morning light.
We reach for the past,
wanting one more night
on this deflated air
mattress. One more
night where he rests
his head on this pillow
of a crumpled up
towel. Curling together
under an emergency
blanket scavenged
from my car, body
heat the only thing
that wards off the chill
of departure.