I Saw the Chameleon

From your suit I knew
you had been in rain,
even after days of travel.
The blue plastic vinyl and tweed
weave train seats left an imprint.
Your hair smelled of distinct
Atlantic cities. But that is past.

Now you lay out a change of clothes
for the week to come:
in yellow you will be hungry
and lean eagerly;
the grey and pink will hold
you on your heels for perspective;
then the red plaid and exhaustion.

With flung hat and feet prized
out of shoes, you'll sink
into a deep suite chair, hide there
until the higher shadows wheel off,
the Arizona sun sets and
messages pass you,
indistinguishable from your future.