-for Hazel
Do not look for logic
in this shift of the ordinary -
when reason is corrupted
by the conventions of dread.
Hallways telescope.
Doors bang shut.
A chill rises by the bed.
Because she will turn up
nonetheless
with malevolent resolve -
her fingers rake the hair
stuck in tangles to your forehead.
Her breath becomes the air
around your face.
The house alone remains insensate,
oblivious to these torments of ice
and visitation.
Outside a doe is frozen
to the weeds by the road.
She was killed by physics,
superstition's sullen brother -
idiotic, relentless and sure.
The words that woke you last night were for her,
cried out in the shape of a prayer.