POEM: Pentacost

on the evening of that first day
when you left with dessicate hands
with corn-stalk hands

gripped tight onto what you knew
was left the drafty room, was your ghost. we saw
the flickering candle & lifeless eyes

nothing spoke as loud as what
was pushed through thin lips
steel-ruler lips,

coerced into a scar lying lips
brave words forced into a corner
this whimpering dog

me, seeking scraps of wisdom
fallen from the table.
air blew distended green curtains

of the room. you boarded
for unspoken places,
the latern dimmed & the flame inspired.