And all things once loved lie
to me, drooling into drains,
along gutters,
pooling into streets
through cracks and creases of
vicious, indifferent roads.

And all things once loved smile
at me, from silver,
along aisles,
in between sheets,
blooming in early morning sun,
sinking with fireflies like shooting stars.

And my hands lie
at my side
much calmer than before.
Much looser, much more giving,
without ache nor itch,
they wait;
of course I maintain those well.
But when I left my feet by the fire,
I left my soul to burn.