of something spiritual, romantic
stripped bare
to the ashes of biology
to the child
so willing, so loving
ripped not from the womb
but dropped from the night
hitting the dirt
and smelling for the first time the earth
love, relentless
ripped apart midday
only for the slivers to creep
from bedroom mirrors in the dark
the ghost terrifies me
the ghost is a product of my love
which no longer belongs to me
but the child alone
to ideologies
that kept the loneliness exciting
hyper and intoxicated
yet still spellbound
by horrors lurking a foot away
out the window
under the bush
that horror was the love left in me
a fiction of the brain
real in its affection
to be seven years old
and fantasize wooing the darkness
to be swooned by fear
it is inevitable
the cruelty of biology