The absinthe cloud of memory
forgets the sugar
when heavy footfalls approach in the dark,
a trickery of echoes-
when an unlit train flies along a track
from direction unknown.
Blackness deletes orientation.
False terrain tells lies.

Still.
Breath loops, settles.
Hands tremble.

Fear’s got nothing on me,
I’ll take this ghost for what he’s worth.
At minimum,
I can steal his shadow and pawn it
at the next depot.

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