A harsh moon washes over this tiny room
illuminating the worn floor boards, accenting every ridge
holding a lifetime of worn shoes and thinning socks.
The cool night air flows through the rust stained screen, a thief
rustling past the sheer wall of curtain, dancing as clouds would
in hopes of hiding in the darkest corner.
In that corner, a chair; brittle as bones beneath January’s sky
displays the loneliness of our apartment above the vacant book shop.
And it took all the courage I had, conquering each creaking step
one by one, to this place where I once called home
which now feels empty, void of all the things we shared.
A collection of poems litter the floor, as leaves of a dying tree
her branches unable to hold her words,
begin to dry, the ink fading into a coma of dreams.
So I gather the remnants of a lifetime, one page at a time
keeping them safely hidden, guarding all my memories of you
and binding them in an album, labeled Collected.