By Robby Allegretta
Traces of you in every corner;
in the Victorian rocking chair,
the bookshelf by the fireplace.
A soundless breath panting the night away,
the steady metronome of my conscience;
“regrets are the smoothest stepping stones.”
Paint chips off the ornate walls; below
a thicker layer, a soothing aquamarine.
Why forgo this room in reticence?
Air thicker than a recluse’s plight...