At 10:17
the conveyor belt shuts off,
the house is silent.

Sentimental ghosts
softly whisper of things lost.
I dream of home.

Each winter morning
hot black coffee, cold shower -
old memories fade.

Once, in Savannah,
a summer storm washed away
red dust & desire.

Here, winter showers
fog my glasses, bow my head,
coat my shoes with grime.