There's an empty Bench today

She's gone away

Ghosts are everywhere

The pulse of her heart stopped

Wraiths chatter, mix, meld

In the invisible air

The odd number is one

Moment she  lingers in the chair

Talking to a lady who is no longer there

Odd that even two is only ever 1 + 1

These odd and odd associations

Will carry on until the wood

Rots and there are no trees and no ice

And no air and nobody here, there, anywhere

Only the hallowed spirits of times gone by

Only the solid citizens and birds that fly

To a world that's passed.

People who thought they would outlast plastic

But proved to be eminently biodegradable themselves

The empty chair, she, who is no longer there,

Melded like the sitter into the damp, brown clay

Around which silent ghosts coagulate and, occasionally,  pray.