I thought you were a ghost
I see you so little, but your things are still here
and they move around on their own sometimes,
like stacked coins rearranging their patterns, or a watch
that is never constant yet always knows
the particular time; I see you only
from the corner of my eye, passing me quickly
with a hurried motion of going somewhere
Else. When you're sad and miss me, you come
and waste your busy time, but lately
you don't come anymore...
This cemetery has become my home;
I died here waiting for you, digging graves
with my pen among the poetic tomes and tombs
while you simply brush by, moving in and
out of the constant fog like the living often do.
How could you ever miss me when the only part
of me you loved is always here, a ghost conjured
back to who I was when I loved you most
by your mere "hello"... please forgive me
for ever trying to be more
than your memory.