The night wraps around you with each step, 

the air slightly chilled as the blistering summer 

slowly yields and fall teases the air with vibrant 

streaks of silver moonlight and breezes so quiet, 

each are unique whispers of air reminding you 

of the places we used to go off to alone

And the sound of your voice shaped ink endlessly 

writing beyond paper and skin, 

the journals and sonnets that would be sealed in vaults 

I'd give you the combinations and keys to.

If you read them, you may no longer think of me 

as a ghost sleeping where you live, 

the cold spirit who didn't know how to become a light 

imprinting upon your flesh all the warmth you deserved 

and I'd find a way to make it again even if the last of what 

I am is to be the kindling.

The night wraps around you and memory emerges, 

time's imprints stepping from silk cocoons that can 

no longer blanket our hearts, 

so cut the tethers that hold me safe and as the season 

slowly yields you'll feel me leaving the cool air 

and the whispers of swaying branches.

No longer reminded of cracks made 

along walls and splintering glass, 

the sound of your voice now a rising wind 

to carry me to wherever I'm supposed to begin again, 

the imprints left upon me read as endless messages of 

how to create light in another.