You haunted me for months,
a ghost gluing teeth, between
milestones, midnights, madness.
I longed to delete the voice you
kept – my signs of crumbling, an
admission into miracles – to force
your rediscovery, creeping through
grey matter. My doors closed to you.

Our Saturday sun came without
warning. Weathered keys appeared,
limp and lost between your fingertips –
and rusted, from sweat? tears? You’re
still running, a phantom atop my
tongue, wedging obituaries within
every cavity.

03/31/2004

Posted on 04/01/2004
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