The Dead Rise Twice

In the cool grip of night—
When the dead rise twice—
I pay a visit to you,
Wearing a black rose
Pinned to my skinny lapel.
I have come for nothing
More than a hint of recognition;
A casual glance will do,
A furtive stare, far better.
I know you wonder, of course,
If this truly must be me
Returning to haunt you
Or just some gaunt stranger
Hired for such an occasion.
And I don’t necessarily have
A wishbone to pick with you—
Words which were left unsaid,
Love that dissolved between us.
Tonight I only bring you
The measure of a man departed—
A figure who slowly emerges
From the ground where you walk,
So that you might glimpse
The length of my shadow
Once more before you sleep.