Those waves
Were a restless gray
Beyond
What bluffs
Laid highest
Above
That sea
Which wrestled
Near the jetties
Glazed with foam
And splashed
As tempers rose
Within
Such depths
Still rising
As they jutted out
From landings
Below
Our distant
Cliff
Where the mansion
Stood in watch
Over shorelines
Bare
And waiting
For this moment
Storms
Would claim us
At a house
Which had its ghosts
Like that woman’s
Sitting chair
Now rocking
Back
So gently
Without nudge
Or provocation
Other
Than being
Scared
For each
And every wind
Which grazed
Our bitter
Faces
While the radio
Played to silence
Near a room
Her spirit
Walked
When music
Calmed our fears
If the tune
Could ever
Save us
From a death
That’s always waited
For this moment
Caught
By chance
To speak
Through crackling
Flames
Like the fires
Voicing whispers
Beneath chimneys
Nearly coughing
From years
Of missing
Use
Telling us
Our ways
Are an effort
Dull
And wasted
With proof
Like reassurance
How our
Presence
Surely lasts
Among
These vacant halls
Just besides
That ocean
Grieving
Claiming
Every spirit
Has a heaven
Lost
On Earth.
– J. Pigno