Who knocks at the ghostly hour
-branches dance in the tides of wind
a spark in the black sets my blood afoot
behind my eyelids
-clomping boots on hardwood floors
beat beat shudder beat
shivering, the memory echoes something once familiar
– now strange ethos rising with flesh
I am myself and what was.
I fear death. I fear loneliness. She fears the past and the future.
Dismembered, but recognizable
-hear her. Know her.
Mind within halls that maze from her hands
always to feel, always just beyond; empty.