Lost Constellation

It’s too cold to keep smoking.
I flick at the ember
But the cigarette crumbles in my rain-wet hands
Like a mulch effigy.
There’s no saving some things.
They told me Texas was warm but here I am.
I blow into the hole of the coffee lid and it howls in miniature
Like nights in the underpass
Unbidden cars rattling away at the concrete.
My landlord’s son once resided in this room I now rent.
I use the dresser he left behind
And when I turn out the lights
A lost constellation of glow-in-the-dark stars
Speak light into the room’s corner.