light the fires, squeeze the juices
from the coals.
A battered smile, a Belgium waffle forehead.
A reverend blowing prayers on a child
and I leave the church feeling worn.
It’s old. Harpooning at the water.
Smoke is a ghost
hiding in a suitcase, traveling
from room to room to room.
Silent as a pillow, soft as one too
the familiar hall, the black doorway
Cat jumps the wall.
Dagger shadows spin in headlights roaring.
I wipe down my legs,
feel for the towel. I’m alone.
A whole year
in six stanzas. I don’t know if I believe
but I hold coffee grounds
in my heart.
for the lovers out there, one more
for those still hanging on.