On nights like this the cats cry
like babies and the breath in front
of your face is a white figure with a name
and a birthdate, six-hundred stamps
on its passport and a biopic
about its life coming out next fall.
Meanwhile, you are a paperclip.
The headlights make you colder and
there are still one million sidewalk stones
from here to home.
All the cats are dying tonight,
their souls blown away in the suffering
wind and pieces of yourself go with them,
childhood memories you haven’t remembered
in ages that you will never remember again,
sleepovers, birthday parties, learning to ride a bike.
You are faceless in this metal night
as the cold creeps into you. Ashes
in your mouth, the taste of sadness
and the past you will never get back.