Ghosts see into the pulse of her heart 
 seep into the stopped wraiths who chatter, mix, meld
 into the invisible air
 only odd numbers now
 leave me a moment
 to linger in the chair
 talking to a lady no longer there
 odd that even two is only ever 1 + 1
 associations carry on until the wood
 rots and there are no trees and no ice
 and no air and nobody here or there
 only the hallowed spirits of times passed
 only the skeletons of solid citizens
 who thought they could outlast plastic
 but proved to be eminently biodegradable like
 this empty chair melted like its sitter into damp, brown clay
 around which scattered, silent ghosts coagulate to pray.