Bare feet down bare stairs.
Anaglypta torn brown backing
paper. Cigarette smoke hangs
in cloudettes, mingles with
yesterday's garlic the way that
friends mingle just because
they're friends.

The steel bell cuts a trough ‐
wavelets tip‐over in frothy crests
Yesterday can just be yesterday,
it doesn't matter...
but maybe it does matter ‐
like a fresh pillow
when you're tired
and feeling safe.