Pounding on a door
down the hall
to wake up. Then yours. Gas leak.

It’s cold outside
for May. But it’s May.
Neighbors pass

the wine bottle. You accept
the young woman’s blanket
to cover your legs. All clear.

Everyone can go
back inside. Try to sleep
for three hours. Give up. Watch

a solitary figure
walk through
a skyway overhead

on the way
to the train to the plane—

Minneapolis/Saint Paul to
Hartford/Springfield.
No funerals this time.