I live with a ghost.

His bones tacked to the walls,

And his memories sold

To the meat body

Pacing nightly.

I live with ghosts.

Their lamps on my desks,

And trunks on my floor.

Neckties from before 

Packed tightly in a 

Precious box adorned.

I am a ghost.

A hollow idea of 

Unattained ideals.

But this empty room

Filled with joy’s memories

Hangs like baby blue’s 

Knit 

Happy birthday scarf

Folded like phyllo 

Upon winter’s sleepy hook.