Home, snail-mail me my ghost in card-backed brown
Paper, with your name scrawled on the back. Frown
At termite-tunnels and spider-spun webs,
Pry me loose from their sands as time’s tide ebbs;
              Home, snail-mail me my ghost.

Send me old pain, sepia-soaked, to crown
The numbness of exile. These blank walls drown
All my forced mirth. Send our old laughter’s dregs,
With plates knocked-over, and snapped cloth-pegs;
With the snugness of that one ragged gown
              Home, snail-mail me my ghost.

Rest in pieces, crumble in peace. Go down
In obscurity, like a nest wind-blown
To the sea. In the shells of broken eggs
              Home, snail-mail me my ghost.