Yours Truly,

A mild voice standing out
in a crowded room.
Fan in the third-story window
ready to jump.
The future is about to change

written all over the sidewalks.
Emptiness in the ash of cigarette butts.
Something past
in the past.

Remember the night
we froze ourselves in the lake
between dinner and the party?
Your light-yellow jacket
still hanging on the nail in the hall
for everyone to see,
resembling only a part
of your shoulders.