Breathing Without Oxygen

Breathing
without oxygen.

Pumping
without blood.

Rising
without limbs.

I am a ghost
misting outside your window.

you turn from your crimson painting
brush in hand
frown at the February sky
pull your sweater against the chill
and draw the curtains
tightly.

I pound phantom fists
But the still fence
goes on dreaming of the spring vegetables
you will plant.

I wail and scream and cry
But no one hears.

The only sound
ticka ticka ticka
dead vines
on your peeling porch
in the winter wind.