At the table just so he
Could see his ghost. I stared
At him while he ate with his favorite
Fork. The one he said that had God
Coasting through the aluminum.
But then I felt with lips pressed
To vein—He was faking death.
He leaned forward to sing his hymns backwards
As I began to scrub the dishes. My teeth
Collided into the kitchen sink, only to create
The most miserable of melodies.
Oh, the shaken falsetto of my dreams.