Some ghosts we keep
close to our hearts.
Even if our hearts beat
the frenzied beat
of raven wings
against a cage made of glass.
You’re one such ghost, my love.
Sometimes I wonder if you were ever real,
if you marked your shadow on the protesting earth,
or let your sooty breath etch its name
on the grime of speeding train windows.
But perhaps you’re real even now,
even if you’re just sweet melancholy
foraging forth from the darker valleys of my mind.
Somewhere in my allotment of Faery, I take your hand
and if I have courage enough to close my eyes,
you’ll have me sit in the little black boat that is Death.