A shoe left for the garden, malingering
in a cobwebbed corner. The red cap
and logo for a team you've long stopped
cheering for. A fleck of shaving cream
with dried blood in the bathroom door
molding. Windblown papers on the desk
and cast-off change not worth your
collecting. A scarf for bittermost days--
your sanguine oversight. Your marks
pressed upon the walls and doorknobs,
your rear formed on the seat of my easy
chair, your finger whorls on the mirror
from where you turned and looked back.