FOR NIETZSCHE’S

I had forgotten until this visit

how sunlight used to stripe

thick rays across the entryway

highlighting clouds of dust

giving the place a certain holiness

forgotten how each breath drawn

in this venue seemed to plant  

particles in me like seeds

sainted chronicler doormen

walls with ways of remembering

ceiling signatures documented

career climaxes though we thought

our greatest heights were to come

one constant that sentimental sun

speckling stale air with tales however tall

only wood beams and battered drywall

could tolerate those stories again

little has dared to change not even

stacks of old ashtrays near the register

collecting our ashes still