In the house alone
The night is a barking dog
The moon a peephole
On the flat floor board of sky—
It’s time to tend the ghosts
“Hello” ghosts I say
Are you memory or stain?
I ask with hesitation
They ignore me as usual
And converse over dinner
Grey tongued and pleased
They eat the jam and sausage
Cracking the plaster
They are moths with peppered wings
And secretly I love them
Among the loose change
And the hinges that once held doors
I plot an escape
Bury them into the ground
And build a house over them
The house is empty,
Rafters eaten by insects
The curtains are shadow
And the chimney stands alone
In the hollow of the room
The kitchen table
The broken plates, the puzzle
Pieces, The desert
Of the living, and you, a
Four-cornered miracle.
