Four

Throwing mothballs into eaves and corners,
Caverns of my mind,
These are meant for you to find,
So the places that you flutter--
Since you've chosen to ignore
And ghost across my borderlines--
Will reject your soft appearance.

While your presence here has gentled,
You have come to think you're welcome,
Weaving in and out of everything
That floats between my temples--
Striking, still, the strength
And stomach ache of ancient recollection.

We had spoken of a cord
Keeping our two hearts connected
(No matter how we stretched it)
Til you cut it perfunctorily
(With much torquing, pull-and-tugging,
It still felt somewhat abrupt, we
Weren't bored, and plus you loved me).

I can't seem to close the door on this
While yours is locked, the key is lost,
Forgotten in the folds of clothing
Left on someone else's floor.
Now I'm talking to the corpse
Whose foot has propped open the door
So the lazy draft of memory
Is free to wend and wind its way
Through every eave and corner,
All the caverns of my mind.