The Christmas lights
are burning
by six
candles
lit for you

and my
cloche hat
is hung to dry
because it
rained so hard
last night

and at the end of the night
I'm taking off gold jewelry
my silver too
and I am putting them in an
old nickel jar
with the face of a cat
that you gave me

The Christmas tree
is glowing
and the tea kettle
is heating

and the cat
is slowly
lapping
off the
dirt of
other days

and it's the end of the night
where I'm
reading a poem
where you told me
that you wished that
you could fly
and that I
was so much more
than my porcelain
frame

At the end of the night
I believe you
and I miss you just
the same.