A house not so much haunted as haunting

Three pieces from a few years past. It was a dark time. No I don't want to talk more about that, thank you.

no gods

No spirit, no god
no power in this or any world
can give me what I want:
a problem no one can solve,
a petition whose answer must always be no.
Now I understand
that stony soil,
those terrible choices:
a desperate person will
take
any chance
cut
any deal
give
anything.

But that was just fiction.
I shouted into the void,
offered service
body
blood
and got no answer.
No one
and nothing
can.

a haunting

Our house is not so much haunted
as haunting:
the ghost of our home looming behind me,
settled heavy on my shoulders,
not a presence but an absence,
a lack like a missing limb.
I moved into the other room,
put away our photographs –
I need to change our passwords, I need to do so much –
a million things to avoid the flinch:
the fleeting, searing touch
of hope all of this was just a dream,
a terrible mistake the universe will realize
and I will wake to find you in my arms.

untitled

You are carved into my bones,
a space worn for you there where
you should be living.
Our angles fit together like
an organic puzzle,
solved.

But now.

You smoothed over my rough edges,
made a space for tender meat where
only sharp bones thrived.
Our hearts pound together like
a sinew snare,
beating.

And now.

Now I am all sharp edges,
broken bone and thorns and
razor-edged replies.
Our hands stretch across the gap,
desperate fingers,
reaching.