plastic bag dances on the wind,
he chases with a boyish grin,
notes in smudged ink say, "begin,"
and coffee stains a gentle spin.

brushed off crumbs, his laugh, his way,
those fleeting things of yesterday.

bags are weightless ghosts afloat, a drifting mass i cannot hold.
notes sit bare and faded, on my shelf each word now freezing cold.
coffee ring on bedside table, speak in whispers bright and bold.
warmth no longer waking me, of mornings, lonely, left untold.

chase laughter down those empty streets,
crushed memory, died incomplete.
in silence, gentle breath slip by,
hang in the air, too thick, too dry.