You are the ghost in my home – peripheral vision
undermining the placement of my furniture and
shattering glasses in the hands of other guests.
A cough of air. Words blown into me – soundlessly
you stand at the foot of my bed and push me into
wracking pressures, hallucinatory fits that ratchet
childhood to the fore of my days and somehow
I saw your face in stones, not so far from here and
I saw you walk out the room just before I entered
each time, making me second-guess my senses.
Stay a while.