Day.19

 Day 19

 The night of the haunter

Haunting him seemed easy- 

You going yourself through walls,

hardly feeling them, horsehair and plasterboard

Nothing stuck. If he saw you there, if he could,

He’d see that you were young again

and almost transparent -

Yes death works like that 

the joke of being beautiful

when you can hardly use it -

so that beauty to the self is almost meaningless-

Hell is a succession of small failures,

a Sunday with rain and all the shops shut.

You were always lackadaisical, so he appreciated effort,

your hiding there, a serving mechanism

metaphor or indeed a phantom?

As you melted from floor to floor, You

found your ruby ring, dropped through the floorboards;

all this transport made you itch

Perhaps you could practice being a ghost.

You were aware that he might not have 

loved you as you did him, but you hope for mistakes,

like the misplaced vowel of the lion,

its restless ghost haunting deer in the neverending forest,

every hair raised, holding your breath.