loss of faith

I am bent double, elbows clasped behind –
we prepare for flight and one day it takes us,
it frees us from ourselves, from you.

my carping host is rictus-struck
and bound by hope –
where the seeds of his good begin, mine end

I know not ghost, nor peace, nor flight.
what parts for me in two, and then in two again,
is mine and mine alone.