Residual

The corduroy is stiff with salt.

I found the lighter in the left pocket,

transparent blue and half-full.

It still sparks on the first flick.

We used to drive until the gas light

became the only sun we knew.

There’s still a small, black burn

on the fabric of the seat,

a permanent mark from a cigarette

you dropped when you were laughing.

I haven’t deleted your number,

I just stopped looking at the name.