[untitled]

the clocks spin backwards,
to change it, a chance.
but insides long deadened
could not awake.
and you never appeared.
so ashes rise and dust my shoulders
with their own barrage and meaning
and i cannot find a feeling.
i sigh over cotton and pretend
as you pervade.
every sense and uttered word
your ghost.
warped phantom, no longer friend.

the woodsmoke got under my fingernails,
infiltrated my hair, my clothes, my skin.
i let it in.