With a trick of light and atmosphere,
Your tailbone pressed into the two-rail fence,
arms waving long afternoon shadows
onto recovering winter grass.
The loose chicken wire I mistook for your suitcase.
I rammed your fork into the wall.
Its prongs collided with the yellowing wallpaper,
kicked up dust as it coiled, and
peeled back fading flowers to construct
a shredded crater in the fabric of our home.
This divot in plaster has the potential to become
another one of your unfinished projects.
You could place it on the ledge in your work shed
next to me and the path in the forest
you spent your nights in the fall clearing.
Spring magnolia branches
punching through panes of glass will sound like
the last breath of an aerosol can.
& like paperbacks on sunroom bookshelves,
I too can fade to beige.
Necromancer Walking 