collateral

left my glasses at your place
an excuse I did not need to make.

well,
I'm watching the last of the money slink down the old oaks
gold-soaked changing
back to soft green gray.
you know,
how things fade.

and how tomorrow
and tomorrow
and tomorrow
they jingle different shades
and handfuls of change.

I am taken back to bronze tumbling
of fresh pennies bouncing
about the floor -
of old register drawers
I used to slam and clang
and lean on, and bang
little rolls of numbers upon
and sling
through the paper sleeve,
come to rest behind
the decimal on the price, then
in pockets of all kinds.

change
sings when it falls
and sneaks into every corner of the room,
under furniture that will probably never move

still
thinking of our movement,
stuck on how I
crumbled and broke my dollar for you -

not that I've done any falling for you,
but you really fucked up my balance.

your bedroom carpet alone
caught my crash like a bad dream
tangled in string, made to melt in the morning, but
I just know yours
would be a fine hand to land in.
halfway to my car, I saw your nightstand
in my mind's eye, my glasses,
my dime behind your dresser.

I've been taught to take my time
and do my scattering,

like light,
like lenses,
accidental collateral.