Searching for C.

the headlights of the car
illuminated Rue des Bavards
through a sheet of rain,
a boulevard like so many others.
he leaned forward anxiously,
his forehead almost touching
the cold windshield as he searched
for her car, the one he looked for every
night, sometime before dawn, to see
where she slept, no matter where,
in anyone’s arms, no matter
whose, as long as he knew
she was there safe, so many
rainy nights when she
was not at home in her
small twin
bed.