phantoms

the evening when I lay
for a nap until midnight,
left the house lights blazing,
all doors cracked open
as my tabby-cat chews
on the ends of my hair
on my bed.

midnight comes & goes with ease,
the cycle of my saliva waterfalls
begins, making art
on the pillowcase,
my breath deepens with moonrise.

yet as the hour enters the darkest point of night
the lights in the hall panic--the start of a seizure:
they dance on & off with indecision.
there is no one else in my home
but these atoms tug my chest
in-between slumber & light,
half-cracked eyes
& a heart of speed,
i levitate
to meet the spirit
face-to-face
hers, the vintage frame of a Lichtenstein
in shadows,
her floating face
is a talking head
but i can’t hear a word
from the mouth in motion,
not even a whisper.

i respect her presence
but squeeze my eyelids & turn over
into a scared sleep.
i want to know
what she had to say
i want to purge the darkness
that makes spurs my pulse
in the presence of phantoms.




Pt. II


i felt them again in the hummingbird room,
with it thick window that shows the swaying
shagbark branches winding up for a fight,
and the high window that lets me peak
at the waxing gibbous,
when the clouds let us see her.

spirits came in through computer screens
in the invisible attic
but the Lightweaver
sent them away.