In your black coat I walk into June heat.You take a dark bird's shape and fly away.I see your ghost, but it does not see me.The recently bereaved are hard to please.I didn't make your bed or your mistakes.In your black coat I walk into June heat.A phantom bone that haunts its amputee,of all my specters, you are most awake.I see your ghost, but it does not see me.I pilfer through these memories like a thief.But maybe all's not lost. Some's just misplaced.In your black coat I walk into June heatAnd I keen once more for your mortal hands beneathWhat gravid fabrics other fingers braid.I see your ghost, but it does not see me.So I sail, half-masted, through the ghastly seaOf these wasted, assailing lovers, loss and fate.In your black coat I walked into June heat.I did not leave your ghost. But it left me.
Martin B. Copenhaver and John N. Sheveland on yoga, Carol Zaleski on C.S. Lewis's Aeneid, Jason Byassee on Will Willimon.
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