I saw your ghost standing at the top of the steps last night.
(your dark hair reflected the beams of that hunter’s moon)
You looked down, head tilted, smiling. You walked a few slow paces, stopped.
I watched you move from the corner of my eye but did not turn to face you. My ears filled with the roar of my own heart’s blood and I heard nothing else.
The hours between then and now are thin, brittle sheets that crumble in my fingers when I try to reclaim their utility.