My legs are sagging
loose against his table
sitting in the living-room,
The clock chimes in five times
we complain in echoes
that reverberate throughout the old house
the striated oak stretches against
the wind as the clock stops
its banter.

The kitchen light creeps across the entryway
placing itself on the window
and I see a ghost,
flotsam carried on waves of light
and neuroplasticity of course
that is taken in
this sober-minded leap
a way away from this haunting.

My attention is caught
by and by I have been
out of mind he has found me.