I discover them throughout my home,
in the cracks of the tile,
where hardwood meets baseboard,
in the shadows of furniture,
where cotton meets mattress,
with the dust, the dried skin and the hair.
I know them before I see them,
their sound in the bristles of a broom,
their shape beneath my bare feet.
I find these tiny reminders of that gasoline of an emotion.
I find her bobby pins, and with them,
the ashes of dawn go creeping past the room we once sailed around.