Damp Edges

Empty Room

Ghosts
and too many vacant rooms
which call me, I suspect I should’ve
allowed your furniture to have remained
and the rugs and all they know
What do you remember
as you sail adroitly, silently
through this house through me
yesterday with its visages, cold temperatures
the trees batter and rattle outside
scrape against the window frame
the paint worn in places
I am.

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