moon

full moon visits my room 
painting a graveyard populated by ghosts dimly considering
the validity of their demise;
knick-knack tombstones awash in the night
suspended in fogs of memory dimly guessing,
silently possessing their places
on shelves littered with communal dust,
stolid corpses of deliberate forgetting.

the crypt of my existence moulders in shadings
rendered in cold indigo.