A diorama of function, all clockwork and organ.
……………Transparency means the light is bending.
Damn this gravity. Suspension is spirit’s legless shadow,
……………At least here in this hall. A woman, remembering
Something she cannot name, wanders as of seeking
……………Light. This is how shadow destroys itself.
Through an open window. As she falls, a silver spoon
……………Spins a web of light from her pocket. The trees
Do not understand this broken kite. This bitter copper
……………Water. Since the first time she fell, I have taken
The dead inside of me nightly. Spoken the transposed
……………Tongue of mirrors. She is not the first
Of the living to disappear. The first of my children, now
……………A blur of movement under water
Where there is no water. Scars still on her chest
……………From sternum rubs that convinced her heart
To start again. How many times must she die?
……………Addiction is a brutal lover so the bruise
Within her spread. Hemorrhage touching her lips
……………With its purple hum. A spider in the corner
Now louder than her breath. A father who converses
……………With the spirits knows too well the shape of regret.
The days of her absence numbered like abacus beads.
……………The sound of bone counting down. I gather
Myself between the rising and falling suns. Pass her
……………Memory in the hall. Turn to watch a storm
Lift her eyes with practiced silence. In my arms
……………Her daughter is a metronome.

– Zachary Kluckman

Author’s Note: This poem is a part of a cycle that explores the concepts of haunting and being haunted as experiences that often have nothing to do with spirits. Although at times, phantoms may be involved, most of our hauntings originate within, and these poems seek an understanding of that phenomenon.