Untitled Poem

Vanished-
one boot with ribbon in the eyelets,
a black macabre streamer waltzing in the wind
What ghost walks these ash stained carpets
if it is not the gilded specter
of our secrets
singing hollowly to empty walls

Wraith not, want not
We knew the conjunction was conditional,
ephemeral
The connection to Connecticut,
the machete of Massachusetts,
and I
The Virgin of Virginia

At noon, a new one,
living
with his own haunted hallways
Pour me a drink and plunder away,
marauder of my mouth and marrow

When you leave with the acrid abruptness of sudden death
or the lasting languor of waking from a dream
there will be no surprise
No, not this time
I have learned to expect the second hand smoke
of the phantom
sulphur and sweet
sing me to sleep

The Church at Auvers, Van Gogh.