Today, I see roads that change names

each block, and I drive with blind faith

that one will bring you home soon. Memory

is muscle bathed in morning sun, framing you

in buildings past: a coffee shop

we sat in once late at night, the sky purple

with stars and the couple adjacent

playing chess while we absently

glanced across our table, eyes alight.

a theater, holding hands like cups,

laughing and the screen flashed

white our faces before darkness, high cheek’s

caught in a smile. A furniture store

we strolled, lounging on couches never bought

as respite from the day’s work, our bones

so suddenly heavy, your head on my shoulder,

being nothing together.