Halloween
               

You were a white cocoon shot through with gravel.
I was a knocked-down nest.
We are unassailable only insofar as we produce
in the end something beautiful.
Luna, outside are monsters in parked cars.
Not you. Not when I have just set my preferences
for the twenty-first century.
Ghost messages at the end of your tenure
tell me of more boredom. Let us go then separately
into the cemetery,
everything bad and good. Its headstones flat
and ordered. I know to take careful steps,
the way ghosts move when a quick wind moves them.
Whatever lands one here—
I'm not lonely I'm happy
to be among so much denouement.

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Copyright © 2011 Christopher Salerno All rights reserved
from The Journal
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission