I’m the stalker of your ghost
You’re the one I miss the most
In the queue
Queuing up for you

There you are sitting in the dentist chair
Are you aware I’m hovering too?
Masked as the assistant
Mixing up the glue
Holding up the x ray
Of my exposed root
The bitten smitten heart
To view

Here you are queuing for the baker
Give or take a day or two
Have you noticed the en croute’s black?
That the choux is anything but choux
That the yeast has upped and fallen
Flat
That the queue’s the wrong queue
They’re all eager for the loo?

Here am I
Skulking in the shadow
Of your broken wings
At pains to know which way to fall
When you fall too
Limping down the aisle
Like a waif without a shoe
Or carried shoulder high
By some dismal foreign crew

Here we are
Snug in your box of clues
Sharing air that rapidly
Thins
This space the CO2
Imbues
While outside the wood grows wet
And reeks of pine and grief
Tears like leaves dropping in August
Pre-empting coldest
Sleep
Sterilizing all that’s old and tarnished
Staining all that’s new