Not even laughter marked the passing
where the final hop was made,
where I found time
waiting with a smokeless cigarette,
and shadows played burlesque tragedy
upon bones once called foundation.
There were memories in the scraps of smiles.
Cracked and bloody in the marsh,
a framed lie will sink into the sight unseen.
One life at a time
these homes just
stepping stones between—
thank God there’s soul to find cause
you can’t go home again.