A ghost fashioned out of love and nostalgia to calm my storm paces the attic floor. The lines of her hands trace up the stairs with fingerprints and echoes of laughter. Aching for the breath and bones, I sit with the construct as she continues to color me. With all that grace and light she speaks to what was and what should have been. I gently nod and remind the ghost I have made, she is loved truly and unconditionally.
They ebb and flow
Azure waves crashing
Against my ears
Some fleeting wisps
Dead before understood
Others thicker than blood
Unheard until too late
I say them in haste
With inconsiderate passion
So I leave them unsaid
Rotting through to bone
The day rises like so many others,
Stiff with lamentations, freshly hopeful.
Spreading fresh balm across earl grey skies,
It hides away pestilent rot and failed ointments.
Passed over by the blind, light survives to die nightly.