things you still see

ghosts...

like silk,
like bone,
like echoes,


like a recurrent wisp
a bony-wristed fist-
exposed and glowing as if an apparition-

raised and ready to strike,
raised and ready to strike

a familiar warning,
the click of the bone's wretched sounds echoes...

bone on flesh against bone;
blood on your silk face.

there's always a morning
after a bloody, haunted

evening's sins
evaporate.

"...on the horizon
and swimming away..."

as a diaphanous dawning yawns
as a prelude to every day's mundane...