Necromancer

Ashes and dandelions,

Bone meal

And the scent of petrichor

Tumble together In a tiny little vial

That is the final result

Of this experiment

Of playing with the boundary lines

Between time and space.


Wrestle time away

From Death's crooked hand

And restart the pocket watch

That always ticks inside the walls.


Marvelous, the reanimation

Of dead hands

And clouded eyes

The stretching of a smile

That breaks the careful decomposition

Of rigor mortis.


The last concoction turned upon itself

And erupted with sparks

With the scent of rainy days

Upon fading pasts.


Necromancy does indeed work,

As the shop keep had promised.

Memories blossom out of

Long dead daffodils

And the ghost of drumming fingers

Lays its pallid breath upon warm skin.


There is no death

Only memories that feel like endings

And gold coins pressed into palms,

Old names disturbing the dust

That settles on years past.


Mages who make memories

Are far more precious

For making their customers remember

The best times

Draped on old bones like Christmas lights

That come to life in black shimmers.


The woman laughs

And her daughters giggle

Remembering old play dates

And weddings with a face missing

That used to fit so perfectly between them.


With just a drop of memory

The whole ocean comes pouring in.