It’s been a while since she’s outgrown anything—
still, she buys new coats.

And every morning she finds him:
wooden chair, 8 o’clock,
cup of coffee.
She knows the things he will
not say
when she enters the room
and lately,

the space between their words is empty.

But though he still fits, time
rubbed its thumbs between them
for so long even comfort  
can’t keep out the cold.

It was only yesterday when his own
thumbs turned her cheeks to gold—
but alchemists and lovers have
no need for a coat rack like theirs.

When did she become the tarnished
picture frames of those early days
together? Retired to the corners of her
mind, these summon dust and the greenness
of age. The mind is a sieve when it forgets to

And all because
one day she forgot to look slowly.