The bells ring out,
A mind-shattering bellow,
Again, I hear them again,
A sound so familiar, almost forgotten,
Almost…but not quite…
My blood flows faster, pulsing at my temple,
Dancing along the fine veins in my wrist,
Moving so smoothly, so suddenly,
And you are there -

A ghost in the bell tower,
Your image imprinted in shadows,
A stain against the frosty air.

You beckon to me,
The fluid lines of your cloak fluttering,
A dream? A nightmare?

The bells ring out,
I close my eyes, they’re stinging in the cold
As you drive the wound deeper,
Your presence a stake through my heart,
Your shadow the garlic I can taste again,
Your cloak the shroud wrapped about me,
Your beckoning - my coffin being lowered
Into the hard, half-dug grave…