Music still turns from the hour, once hushed by the conversation of the hour.
Candle wicks burn until their end, unattended.
Steam from a sidelined mug makes the air, clashing perfumes and colognes, visible.
Wrinkles on the couch like a basset hound.
Table runner stained with half-eaten pies left on ceramic dishes with scratchy bottoms.
Shared flannel blanket draped over a battered armchair.
Milk in the pitcher, passed from cocoa to tea, collects dust particles visible in the white.
Fire burns bright in the low light, unattended.
The skin is tight at my laugh lines like lifting a heated glass, intentionally impressing.
The frost-filled town like a photo outside;
now only I am walking amongst these mementos.