In forgotten days you were suspended in the air,
a haze in the void that moved like waves of thick glass.
Between yawning pines you hovered, curse-like,
a portent unremarked on but witnessed
in side-cast glances and anxious shuffles homeward.
There was a gravitational pull to your freeward float,
unable to lift skyward, like a spectre trapped in a room.
Disembodied but present, glimpsed in reaching shadow,
you were conjured at a remove, in those held breaths
between telephone calls, in the static throb and burn
between lost frequencies on endless drives to outskirts.
You were in the streets like electrical fire,
all negative space and a careful grave,
tended like a frozen pond or barren field,
a safe distance torn apart by blank forces.
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