Unmarked endings

The old cafe sign tilts behind dusty glass,

a crooked smile frozen in a moment I missed.

My jacket pockets still hold the faded stub,

a ticket to a morning that would never return.

I drank the bitter coffee, spoke in tired words,

not knowing the last sip was the last time,

not seeing the slow close in the silent walls,

a quiet folding up of a small, soft place.

Now the shuttered door hums in empty light,

a ghost of days folded sharp,

and I walk past, unaware,

carrying a last day I never knew I had.