I said it was ok, I didn't need a king's ransom

and credit made me nervous, so Boris and I set off

to make our fortune(s) hand to mouth. We started

door to door with little skits, juggling moles and sketching

palominos on the skin of the air

and after a few months of leftover nickels

for a few grand moments with an accordion by starlight

Boris wanted to go out on his own, learn a language,

maybe be a banker or settle down to imagine

how many vines were woven into the vault of heaven,

I said it was ok with me. Sometime later

I heard old Boris got shot breaking into the city zoo.

He'd ripped off his clothes on the way, tossed his wallet,

comb and St. Christopher but kept his waterproof Rolex.

They made a lot out of it in the newspaper.

But I knew Boris and he just wanted to tread water

across the rippling moonlight.