And the embers of the fire
Lay scattered beneath the grate
Like a dead desire.
Eight o’clock
And the staircase creaks
With the ghosts of past desires
While the hallway clock speaks
Of spars consumed entire.
These moments in the darkened house
While the rain beats outside
Remind me of her white dress
As a lonely night tide
Ebbs and returns
Like love that has died.
And what use is memory
Images of her and me
Flash momentarily
To die in futility—
Is this the way to end our days
Scrying shadows
In a fireplace blaze?
As the Moon ascends
I count seven steps
To the first landing
Six to the second floor
And thirteen to the ending…
I close my eyes descending
Knowing for certain,
I won't be returning.