The roller bag skates the glossed 
 floors of the lobby. Down the hall
  
 the keycard slips into the lock, a neat 
 kiss. The door swings wide, the carpet 
  
 smells of soap. Twin lamps 
 flank the bedside. He shuts himself 
 inside, unpacks 
  
 shirts and ties, and hangs 
 these flattened selves 
 in the bathroom, shower running hot. 
 Paces back out to the bed, where
  
 the room watches him undress. 
 Takes his pale image 
 in white undershirt & shorts 
 and pastes it in the mirror 
 with the others, the many
  
 who’ve passed through 
 the tight envelope of sheets. Loosened
 the branches of the body, finally
 
 alone, a crab-apple tree in May.
 Darkness embraces even 
 the space between 
 white flowers, until they fall 
 
 as snow on the carpet.

“Business Trip” originally published in Pilgrimage (Volume 38 Issue 3: Sleep).

Pilgrimage cover