The diseased porch light
dripped hot white acid
onto the floorboards where I once sat.
Creating a puddle of luminescence
that showed no reflection on the night of forgetting.

The intimate whispers beyond your door
carry across the porch and into the lake where I lay.
I puke in the moonlight beneath the ice and check
my pulse to make sure I'm still dead.

Please shake away the unwanted days
and splash in the swamps of your own
making.
Let the green water seep into your lungs
and inhale and embrace the coming seasons.
For I will surely die at the bottom of this
lake with that girl on my mind.

And one frozen January day she will
skate confidently across that stretch.
And maybe,if your patient,frozen-swamp-dead-boy that you are.
You may finally see her from beneath.
The angle you always dreamed about.

And if you haunt hard enough,and your spooks are up to par,
she might pucker a kiss to that frozen glass.
She might even close her eyes.

11/30/2009