Apparition.

It was her sister that filled the air.
The preacher said so--
in his thin black tie way.
Impressions are absorbed
by the heels
and she is beneath us now.
Look down into the pause and know
that none of them are ours, but belong to the God
of haunted houses and embalmment.

It was her sister--
a human isn't a word to be put down
on paper and shelved.
They should be released from their urns,
to move into guest rooms,
to swirl in our blended wine bellies,
to see the bee without his sting.