Watch and keys on a chair and our cups
where the candle shone—even shadows
are gone: not a sound remains, pulled
into the silent phone that forgets
what it used to do.
How about you?
Broken cookies look up from the floor,
pale day leans in, pale window looks
away, the party gone home, and only
the crumbs staying true,
and the silent phone
how about you?
No cookie is broken in vain, they say;
in the dark no candle burns. In the pale
day, by the pale window, straighten
the phone. What comes, no matter how
far or slow, will be new, I say.
How about you?
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