Cloudy is your name upon my tongue.
With careful ease, I let the breeze of my sigh
push your memory aside in a short breath.
If I ponder upon you for a moment longer, there is a chance
you will haunt me in snippets of broken promises, dog-eared photos, and silence.
But if your ghost does show up on my stoop, then I will call it catastrophe and lock the door.
Poetic Trials 