Poe’s Annabel Lee

Dearly departed, 

your face fitted inside the ornate filigree frame.

Your feathered hat

surrounds a rawboned face.

Your shoulders hold a filmy wrap of satin and lace.

Your skeletal fingers

shift in the light on graceful hands.

Velvet gloves clasped as you, the lost lover,

endure your woeful waiting,

as the pendulum wall clock ticks,

and you hoard his books,

as you anticipate

his arrival.