I’ve lost the thread of you.
Dropped it accidentally
looking for my keys in the parking lot
or spooled it into a tiny knot
at the bottom of my pocket.
Or did I dangle it over the candle
I knelt to light in anger
when you didn’t answer
and make myself wait until the flame
curled against my fingertips,
until I let you go, smoldering?
I can still smell the smoke you left,
as if you were passing through
the room, on your way somewhere else.

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