Maybe a ghost haunts the dean’s office

after all. Maybe the decade marched
its line through me, and I won’t be afraid
of empty kitchens or honey-colored wood.

I’m not scared of choking to death anymore.
I’m not scared of drowning in my car,

nor being alone with myself in the same way
we were alone together.

But after all this time, I’m afraid about caring

of what all this says about me. Still thinking
about the way the building’s windows judged
the situation, as if it ever lived and breathed.