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