he empties his pockets
at the end of the day
she hates random
pieces of paper
in her washing
cleaning out the lint filter
mumbling to herself
shaking out the snow
of forgotten wishes
from her clean clothes

he can't say

that was the receipt
for the flowers I sent
or the lay by for something
simply fantastic,
regardless of what's spent

so he dutifully empties
his pockets each evening
before leaving
his clothes for cleaning
and then sits silently
holding onto
all of his dreams
from his pocket...
staring at receipts
of his attempt
to please
his woman, his wife
the love of his life

there is no snow
on his clothes
because each night
he remembers
to empty
his pocket
full of dreams
*and hope