Poem a Day 2025

when you finally
stopped coming
there were 

no traces
of years
of flying shoes
just
mud
dust
snow
souvenirs from outside
universal boot stuff
swept
and rubbed gone
daily
once you finally left
like the season
no notes
or boxes
no underwear
just a ceramic figurine
with a green felted bottom
the size of a giant
cherry
colored with 
a warm tan 

and affixed 

so tenderly 

with a tiny piece of red 

cut glass
the evening beacon for
a devil
or angel’s flame
someone out late

you

dented subaru

looking for somewhere
for the shoes
and the long night
i gave you
this place
with the dusty green awning
and comical façade
like old west
in big capital letters
SALOON

so many times
i put it in your hand

said
something like
we could do something
like this!
our little bar
down the street
we could sit there

and it did 
and the wind blew
on the way out
and then again
the one trinket left

here
with lights on