A Poem That Starts With a Line From Rilke
‘Here among the vanishing ones, in the realm of decline’
body parts of ghosts remain to haunt each other.
Morning is taken with just a slice of lemon
the tears of the lost milk the cup.
The older the bones get the more ghosts are crowded
into an abandoned house.
We who are left make supper early,
go to the bird table at dusk,
feed the failing sun, remember to honor
the past as if it were only yesterday.
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