The Halo on the Wall

I’ve scuffed the corner of my shoes
To return another morrow
To retrace my steps
And feign knowledge of how
To mend the errors I borrow.

The pictures of this moment
Are kept sealed in my oven,
Awaiting the end
Of the winter’s chase
So my memories won’t fade.

I hold you still in the halo on the wall,
From that night when you drank too deep,
And the ink was a lump within your palm,
A mark beneath Castro’s poster; we grinned.

Yet they are but thoughts of a life now spent
You say I fear too much to forget.