the trees are dressed
in winter,
abandoned pieces
left behind,
fine spider lace
and skeleton leaves
and something heavy
hanging in the air
quickly comes the night
its silent embrace feels
too much like your own,
leaving me to crave
not the warmth,
but your bitter cold,
an inexplicable need
to f r e e z e
even though
my heart knows better
perhaps
you still hover here,
a ghost named near
when all you should be
is d i s t a n t
you are a revenant,
a soft shadow
stripping away the light
i write sonnets
in your darkness,
the gospel
according to grief,
a daily devotional
of haunting memories
while sadness clings
to bones that ache
these words
are all that remain
ashley jane