Tomorrow morning as I carve
spirals into the bottom of my cereal bowl
I will remember the round and round
pattern of my feet as you twirled
me and said “It’s time to set you lose”
when it was time to go.

Meshing cream with coffee in figure eights
I will watch as just a few infinities
disappear, tainting each other,
pretending to be the same
for just a moment
existing dizzily as something new
that I’m about to drink
and forget about.