The bedroom’s
the only lit room
in this house.

In the kitchen window,
a reflection
of the lit bedroom.

The lit bedroom
appears to float
outside.

A man struggling
to walk up the snowy hill
appears to be walking

out of the bedroom
that is hovering
outside in the dark.

I look back across the kitchen
to the real bedroom.
Walking out of there

is something.  It isn’t
a ghost, exactly.  It’s
more real, and is struggling

to move in terrible
imaginary weather.
It shoots me a look to say,

All your problems?  
Reflections
you’ve turned into spooks and ghouls. 

I go back
to the bedroom.
I turn off that light.

I watch
how quickly
the ghosts disappear

when I stop
roaming the house alone
and lie back

into the warmth
of her steady breathing,
her steady presence.