Remains

// Sean Bolton

With autumn    air
relaxes, we see
each other through
charcoal filter.

If she were still
I might   touch her,
say something
doesn’t connect. The
moment   moves on
like the rest.

Day becomes trivia
we take to dark
rooms   where beer is
sweet-bitter and smoke
settles   in valleys of
carpet and tile.

We kneel here,
where shadows are
something  like real.