Non-Erotic PoetryMy own ghostA shadow of me wanders through the house.
A quiet has moved into my bones,
and I feel an ache in my chest.
I am afraid of all the options spilled before me,
frightened into momentary stillness,
a night moth outside a shining window.
I rest against the cold glass
and fold my wings
in tender press
against the slick unyielding surface.
I don't know what will happen.
There has been too much change.
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