Ghosts Revisited

Yes, the nerves are like tombs,

but there has been no death --

save the many repetitions

of a strangling in the depths

A submersion

and resurface

and a strangling once again

Four months on,

strapped to my shoulders, it remembers --

still rattling the coins

I scooped up that December

"Just take all that"

from the desk where they sat --

so I scooped them up from you

Now each time they sound

in their small pocketed place --

sift out memories

I'd not dreamed to erase

The clamor I kept just to

go back to you --

but the small pocket wore

and it shrunk -- and I grew

So I emptied the coins

But went back to you --

An absence,

a ghost

and echoes without proof.