"Oh! Let me in, please?
I'm freezing. It's so cold outside."


There was comfort then, in an August moon
hovering over my head, lifting the horizon
closer to our bed and setting us adrift
into a midnight madness, a craving gale
looking for a steering, with a rudder made of stone
and all the ferrymen, singing hymns of loss and longing,
to reach a welcoming shore and safe harbor,
to trespass over hilarity and gulp each breath
taken in, harnessing swallows, the cold tempest
of oblivion, only known to the silently departed
the souls of diligent, wandering men
each whisper as deadly as the next,
cut through your lungs, like razors
turns in an unsteady hand,
as a child screams abandoned
before the wheels that turn
the bodies of the plague
into larger graves, deeper pits of doom
heaped close together in bundles of rotting flesh
white and yellow to the bone, distorted, mangled
like so much tossed broken branches, withering
cracks, crushing under your careless feet,
stretched limbs reaching out, sends words,
for a last salute, filled with tremors and remorse,
like shimmering echoes of long lost friends,
- like ghosts