My night house isn't my day house.
Shadows corner me
in their darkened daze, charge me
like light never does.
My stairway, pit to doom
plants straining their crooked limbs
in embraces lined with thorns.
Carved names of those who used to
hover around here, sad as me, death
massaging their shoulders, weight
exercising its lofty smile.
Those names are in my heartstone.
What lingers must be coaxed
and bribed with sweet bread
and jugs of wine.
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