Barefoot

in my sleep last night there was
a rush of air down the chimney,
a wintery howl, a moan
and a soft layer of soot was
scattered like moon dust
across the hardwood floors
your footprints were there this morning,
pressed into the mess,
their filthy trail leading down the winding staircase
heels and arches powdering each step
that was careful not to touch down
on the boards that would creak, scream out
the ash ended at the end of our bed,
tiny crop circles where your toes landed,
and stayed for some time,
watching me breath and
writhe
and you’re gone now
but there was no sign of you
having walked to the front door
and your suitcase still sits
by the fireplace which
still smolders
filled with your things
a gold watch and nine lighters,
a carton of your brand and
a photograph of me
black and white, nude on the bathroom floor
i leave your bag where it sits
and sweep up the mess
as the fire stifles itself with a pop, a groan
and cooling silence