His scent, whiskey
of a spell, lingers
with no body to bury,
no funeral to close.

His translucent love
lays in a box.
No lack of want..
it isn't enough.
She pours out her heart-
he sits in the dark.

And the worst of it,
her lucidity.
She remembers
the chest compressions,
days of seances
once she'd stopped.

She is his unfinished business,
he needs to move on.

© DanGlyn