common ghosts

she paces caged cat clarity

in and out of the shadows striping

the particularly lame grey carpeting

laments the time of man in which

this construction was born

and remembers the address

where she has kept great stores

of sorrow from time to time

she speaks with common ghosts

as though they were angels

discussing plans for tea

or other forms of mutual

evisceration regarding the way

the odds are always

with the house

‘this is just not home anymore

the trees have become unruly

and the roses have all withered

if only the snow

which fell this

morning

had not melted’

she allows herself these transgressions

tearing the veil from bottom to top

then sewing it hastily at first light

single row stitching her way back to

an increasingly amorphous life

at least thirty miles

outside of perdition

where she may have some things

left in storage