Time Is Its Only Measure

The ghosts here come and go now,
passing through with courteous nods.
“We’re afraid we can’t stay long,” they say
as they leave rings on the linen,
and taint every room that they’ve been in.

St. Jude swings from his silver chain
turning slowly, looking away.
Hanging from my rear view–
the only thing I kept from you.
Some causes are so hard to lose.

I wander
and I wonder
If you came again,
would I —
would I?

The beggar hides his empty palms,
the harder they are, the meaner they fall–
things you already knew.
The only thing I learned from you:
some days take so long to rue.

I wander
and I wonder
If I let you sink,
would I —
would I?

You know I live alone now,
holding out for trinket gods.
“I’m afraid I won’t stay long,” you’d said.
Getting as good as you’d given,
you haunt every room that you lived in.