~ Prune. What can the poem do without? Can it do with out some articles? Is every "the" needed? Can lines be concentrated together? For example: "You claimed love./ You promised love." could also be expressed as, "You claimed love, promised love." The second version has a little more immediacy because the full stop is removed, the pace of the emotion unbroken.

~ Conjunctionitis. I'm surprised I haven't been lynched for this yet. Ask yourself if the reader needs every "and," "but," and "so." They usually don't, and removing many of them can make the others more effective. I'm a total hypocrite on this because I loooove me my conjunctions!!! It really is better to use them sparingly, though, especially in poetry.

~ Write, Rinse, Repeat. Do any of your stanzas say essentially the same thing as other stanzas? I'm not sure I see any instances of that here, but you know your poem and your intent. Even if it doesn't apply to this poem, perhaps it's a tool you can use later.

~ Pace Myself. You did a very good job with this, so I wanted to note it. Using punctuation in poetry is as distinct and flexible as the poem itself. However, we are taught to pause, stop, stutter, turn based on punctuation in writing. Peots can control how their readers consume the content by using punctuation like long-dashes, semicolons, periods. You gave me chances to breathe, to consider, to raise my eyebrows in sympathy—all without breaking the flow of the poem. Very nicely done.

~ "...Almost isn’t a place. It’s a verb." My absolute favorite. This concept blew me away. The inverse of "Give 110%," this admonishes the reader that a lack of 100% commitment is a choice, not a happenstance. So often have I almost-ed... Crushingly accurate.

~ "Regret is a cannibal..." Watch me swoon again! Cannibals eat each other; therefore, we must embody regret (not almost it, but truly be it)in order to recognize it in ourselves in our memories and reflections. At which time, we begin to devour ourselves with guilt and shame and more regret. This is a poetically succinct demonstration of the downward spiral of negative emotions.

~ "- Last breath before the word 'terminal.'" The moment before one act or word changes our lives is always remembered, yes— but here we compound that with the moment before the shock set in, before the numb static started, before Lila's breakdown. "Some remember exactly where they were when Kennedy was shot. Well I remember exactly where I was in the last breath before I began go gently mad." It hit me like a gut-punch.

~ "This is the sound of an almost... 'Why keep it?'...Because someone must." This choked me up for some reason, every time I read it. It touches me personally, sad to say. Among many other mottos that could be applied to me is: "Success is momentary; failures are forever." I must remember my failures—and therefore, I must risk this terrible unstable journey that Lila takes. Touching the reader with shards from your own soul. Wow, and then some!

~"The seam of summa cum laude..." Another almost. Almost the best, almost perfect, almost a lifetime achievement, almost a lifetime of love, almost diagnosed in time, almost survivable. Such a fine line between perfect and fatally flawed. This subtly stated distinction is quite clever.

~ "The sea parts." One of the most ubiquitous and accessible symbols of biblical salvation, this screams that Lira has decided "almost" is not enough for her; she is putting her faith in something better than this dream-cope twilight of grief. Whether it be God or love or life or some compulsion like the Ancient Mariner's—to tell others what not to do, Lira chooses that salvation over slowly wasting away through grief into a shadow of herself that her wife would never have wanted.

~ There is still a history of conflict with mother and comfort from father.

~ Lila is female, as are most of your characters.

~ The spousal relationship around which the story revolves is same-sex again—wives. In fact, even in The Noctuary, the relationship was a close same-sex relationship, albeit sisters. One wonders if this dynamic is symbolic (Eve vs Eve, perhaps, in which no one can ever win?) or if it is a reflection of the writer's real life.

~ This is where I see forward motion in the stories of your "world:" the spouse who has departed is not angry or indifferent this time. She was supportive and loving, contrasting against bitterness, betrayal, and unfairness in other stories. And one infers that this is what enabled Lira to dive down to some sort of serenity at the end.

~ The dog that was never named from strophe XIII (I simply can't call them chapters; they're too achingly poetic) connects to the dog int he Epilogue. Lira has found a way to close that circle, to move forward, to hurt gently.

~ The use of the word "terminal" throughout the story is semantic symbolism at its best. Terminal disease, the terminal of a journey, the termination of life or the termination of grief (Lila's choice). As the reader progresses through the story, the meanings and shades of "terminal" open like a flower—like an orchid perhaps?

~ The mercury in the Parlor (XI) and the mirrors in teh Maze (XV). Our reflections of the past and of ourselves is so often distorted. Both the mercury in the Parlor and the mirror in the Maze liquefy for Lira, distorting her reflections of what was and what could have been. (Or perhaps clarifying them, as blinking a watery eye can sometimes bring things more clearly into focus?)

~ Least important first last line in the Parlor: “She’s not your ghost,” the Ferryman warns. “She’s yours.” I'm not sure who owns what or what represent which, here.

~ Geography. I drew Lira's journey out. It nagged at me as I was reading it, so I had to test it. Her journey is not geographically linear, or even logical.
     ++ For one thing, what the heck is a market doing on a boat? Jarred me a little.
     ++ Once she reaches the old town, she bounces all over the place, even revisiting places. For instance, she visits the Garden, then the lighthouse, chapel, and parlor...then returns to the garden to visit the well. Wouldn't she have seen the well when she was in the garden the first time?
     ++ Where is the parlor in relation to everything else? You have defined a general physical geography, but this parlor has no home. It felt afterthoughtish because of that.
     ++ Was the Archive of Last Breaths (XIII) supposed to be in the basement of the Asylum? Because right now, it seems to be sharing the basement of the Lighthouse with the Archive of Unwritten Letters (VIII). It seems to make more sense for both the psychological journey and the symbolically physical journey.

~ I have this underlined in two different places in my notes. At the end, why does she write?! Writing is not motioned anywhere else int eh story, not in connection with her or with her wife. What is she writing? Why? It's the only loose end, and since it's at the end...well, it feels kind of open-ended.

Setting: 4 stars
I can see the uncared-for bachelor-esque office. There's an empty sense to the office, although there's an unkempt feel to the desk. It smells of fresh citrus, old dust, and an undertone something dank and musty. Although not specified, for some reason, the office feels hot and stuffy to me; I think an environmental tactile sensation would help the reader. All this is to say that I can drop right into your story and accompany the character around—although I'm not really sure whether to sweat or shiver.

Overall Theme: 4 stars
It's only 4 stars because it's not done yet; that's a given. I can tell it's going to include a to of elements of Robert Parker's Spenser and the unexpectedly gifted cop in Dean Koontz's Hardshell. The incorporation of horror/paranormal into a detective story can be tricky, but it's a nice cross-pollination of concepts when executed well. Judgment is is suspended in this case.

Characters: 4 stars
The characters are not yet defined enough for the reader to invest in them one way or the other.
         Protagonist: The pessimistic but doggedly determined detective-without-a-name in your story is a pleasure to read, reinforcing the audience's desire to be a tough guy that is willing to do unpleasant and unlikely jobs. So far, he suffers from a lack of dimension, however. This may be addressed in future chapters, but right now he's kind of a cutout.
         Antagonist: The menacing and supernatural enemy-without-a-face is not defined yet, either. That's because you're not done with the story yet; I get it.
         Catalyst: Charlie, the customer-who-isn't-there is also without dimension. We are left wondering if it is Charlie himself who is the bad guy. He drives the protagonist's action, leading to conflict with the antagonist, but there is too little of him yet for us to get a good grip on him, so to speak.

Character Interaction: 3 stars
         Detective: The detective is much too accepting of a ghost in his office. Unless he has dealt with the paranormal before, he probably would have soiled himself. Gamely going along with a disembodied voice's desires rings incomplete and too much for the audience to willingly suspend disbelief. Also, the detective is broke; he'd not only demand but also need the money up front to facilitate his investigation.
         Charlie: This former person doesn't even try to explain himself in any detail or put the live human at ease. He seems to expect the detective to simply accept a ghostly customer at face value.
         The Bad Dude: While the repetition of "punk" a few times lends a certain dry humor to the situation, the menacing non-entity seems to overuse it a bit, assigning a cowardly or underhanded attribute to the detective that has not yet even been intimated. Otherwise, since the story is just getting started, he (or she) is still too undefined to love or hate.

Action: 4.5 stars
The details of the peeling the oranges and struggling to cut the excessive crime scene tape give a unique feel to this. Just the office, a trip across town, and entering a door would have been far too little to be interesting. As another detail (this is editorial opinion only), perhaps the detective is so broke from his business drought that he has no car and has to take a taxi for transportation, setting up some obstacles for later in the story. Purely an unsolicited thought.

Writing Style: 3.5
         Your sentences, most of them anyway, are very short and choppy. I am thinking this might be to emulate the noir style. "The door was closed. It was hot. And the blond across from me only made the room hotter." That staccato rhythm fits noir well. Used so constantly, however, it gives the story a simple feel, rather hinting to the reader that it's going to be boring or tedious.
         Your paragraph breaks are very good, though, and the vocabulary you use fits the private detective style perfectly.
         The depth of each scene is lacking for me. It feels very high-level. It moves fast, has little detail, and offers almost no explanation about the paranormal aspects of it. I recognize that it is likely because the work is still under construction.

Presentation: 5 stars
Your font size and line-spacing made this very comfortable to read. That's very important to me, and has turned me off some works that have probably been very good otherwise. Excellent choices.

Overall Thoughts:
Would you believe, after all that, I quite like the story? I'm a casual fan of detective stories, enjoying many of the Spenser novels and his own ironic sense of humor. So I am interested to see where this goes and to stop in from time to time to see the progress. As the story develops and you make choices (or not) to edit or adjust, I will likely leave other reviews, which will erase this one and make it obsolete. This review is only evaluating the story as it stands right now!

"Orchids hung from rusted chains, their blooms withering as Elara approached..." where "Vines pulsed with a light that mirrored her pulse."

~ What did Lila mean when she asked Elara why she didn't stay? Stay where? And why is she smiling when her bushy avatar asks?

~ What does the mercury represent? Mercury is sometimes used to indicate capriciousness, like the ancient god, or quickness. But I don't catch either of those allusions here. Is it maybe an exotic type of poison that reflects herself back to her while killing her, metaphorically?

~ Why is the Keeper genderless? This might be a totally personal thing, but the use of the third-person indistinct pronoun They/Them/Their threw me. I thought "It" fit better. I wonder at the reason you went this direction.

~ "OPEN BETWEEN MIDNIGHT AND NEVER" When do we face our fears and guilt and insecurities most but in the middle of the night? And far away is forgiveness when you've wronged family? Never, one supposes.

~ "The air tasted of jasmine and wet ink." Excellent foreshadowing, as we find out later that she stole the written work of her sisters floral research. No wonder those smells haunt her!

~ "Elara waters the weed daily. It thrives on silence." Oh how a lie does thrive on silence! And only if we water it with justification and denial will it continue to exist and protect us…even while it simultaneously damns us.

~ This is a little thing, but when "The full-grown man weakened his grasp on the mayor and did as he was bidden…" the word "bidden" is usually used as a command to be obligatorily obeyed. "Requested," maybe?

~ The Wee Mayor states that they can no long "live under your rule!" If Ron didn't know they were there, how could he be ruling them? What situiations and scenarios are they complaining about?

~ The Wee Ones killed Ruthless Ron and stripped of his clothes for their village, ostensibly. But…what did they do with the body? Did they just move out of Ron's house? Now they Ron the Rotting, and that can't be good, either.

~ Dr. Clara Voss kept a jar of dried lavender on her desk...for the ritual of crumbling a bud between her fingers. Lavender is often the scent of salvation and divinity, particularly in Christianity, where the concept of Salvation is magnified. In this line, I see Clara destroying her own salvation. (Later in the story, toward the end, this is looped back to.)

~ The name "Clara" means "clarity," and this character exudes anything but clarity. Juxtaposing contradicting images or concepts is an excellent tool to communicate non-physical conflict to the reader. Very clever.

~ “I tried to make her heart,” he said. “But it looked like a wound.” Tina Turner expresses a similar thought: "Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken...?" Eli is one of those ambiguities in this piece, and I'll touch on him later. But the insinuation in this line points to the inability of Clara to heal. Clearly, she can't move on, but in her state of painful stasis, like Eddie Vedder, it seems her "empty hands cradle broken glass of what was everything."

~ No reply. (There never was.) Clara's unarticulated cries for help are not heard or are ignored. Couched in the context of a phone call to the past, this avoids being obvious, and that is important in this piece.

~ “You’re a lighthouse...but you’re drowning in your own basement.” You use water in many of your stories seems to represent implacable defeat. With the top of the lighthouse being mentioned as well, though, this is one of those interesting ambiguities for the reader. Does this symbolize "how the mighty have fallen?" Or is it a representation of the more common case of denial and cover: "I'm dying, but I'm wearing a smile that will never let you know that."

~ “Take this. It’s empty, but… sometimes holding nothing is the point.” Wow. This is powerful, especially if viewed through the same socioreligious lens as the lavender. "Take this, and eat of it. It is my body, and it is given up for you." That's from the Catholic mass. But Clara offers: "Take this. This is my salvation, which is denied to me, but might find new life with you." I want to say that's too close for coincidence, but it might be a combination of my own experience and general disillusionment with pretty much everything. Still, the story is interpreted by the reader, so... In any case, it's a bloody brilliant symbol of Clara completely discarding any hope for salvation or surcease from her inner torment, denying self-care while still extending care toward others.

~ Her phone buzzes...New patient compulsive guilt...she turns it off. Holy s***. Another powerful set of symbol. She realizes (phone buzzing) that she is desperately in need of help (new patient), that she is consumed with "compulsive guilt..." but chooses self-destructive behavior patterns in lieu of asking for the help she needs (she turns it off). Damn—that's a tight, efficient package of some serious issues!

~ Clara sits in her car outside her brother’s old apartment....The heater’s still broken...She crumbles a lavender bud that isn’t there. Another of your compound symbol-sets the reader is compelled to evaluate Clara in toto, while there is a pause in the mental action of the story. What has happened in her life? She has obviously lost her brother and her spouse, and she blames herself. "Physician, heal thyself." Indeed; although she is a grief counselor, she cannot handle her own grief. But this might not be exactly her fault. Her guilt is "compulsive;" her mind demands she accept the blame of the world. Is her brother dead, and does she demand absorbing the guilt for it? Is this what came between her and her wife? Whatever the case, these symbols tell us Clara has succumbed to her breakdown and walked herself toward the brink, wishing she could reach for that lavender salvation still but knowing it is gone.

~ Stay here. Stay here. Stay here. Clara will not move on. She will not allow herself. Even though everything in the world is trying to help her move on, she has thrown away that salvation, and we can interpret here that it is deliberate as she wills herself to stay here in this half-life of defeat, sadness, and desperation.

~ Eli. Does he represent someone? Does her represent her brother's memory or ghost? Is the woman he tries to create actually Clara, broken beyond resurrection? Heck, is he Jesus, trying to resurrect her but finding her unwilling to accept His salvation? Or is he just a literary tool to indicate that others are beginning to see cracks in her?

~ The wool coat. Ostensibly an effort to be someone else, does this also represent an attempt to smother the self? (It sucks trying to breathe through wool. Trust me. ) Because it is too big, can we interpret this as an attempt to replicate her brother's arms (relying on the common observation men are often larger than women)?

~ The heater. Not as ambiguous as the others, but the reader has to try to decide: is she longing for the warmth of other human beings, or is this an illustration that her heart of broken glass shards is no longer able to warm her blood into the action of moving on?

~ "...her mother’s cigarette smoke curling into eighth rests..."
~ "Its waves hummed lullabies in minor keys, and its tides left sheet music etched in seaweed..."
~ "...a single line of sheet music, its notes shaped like apologies."

~ There was one glaring thing that snapped me out of this for a minute—the word "tactile." The vocbulary and phrasing you use is enchantingly diaphanous, like the wind, free of shape and full of intent. "Tactile" was like have a stick blown in my eye; it's so deliberate, so rigid. Is there a better word to use in this context? "Palpable," maybe? I'm not sure, but for me, "tactile" was exactly the wrong word.

~ Similarly, but far less starkly, "barnacled" just felt wrong. Because of the consonants, maybe? Maybe...

~ I mentioned the mood before. The mood in this story was heavy, heavier than Lichthaven. Be careful not to brutalize your reader. If Mother had sniped at Nessa one or two more times, I might have finished reading the story only as a courtesy to you, not as a devotee to the wonderful prosetryishness of it.

~ The last thing should have been the first thing, probably. "Our Throats" seemed extraneous in the title. Maybe it has a particular meaning... Does it imply that we don't speak when we should, don't defend ourselves? That the weight of those unspoken words chokes us and kills us inside, perhaps? I think those two words feel like an afterthought because we're so used to the old phrase "the ties that bind," which you also play on. Adding to such a common phrase feels awkward. That's all just an observation, mind you, not something that is "incorrect."

~ “You’re breaking the wrong things,” she said. We do this so often, and so badly. We will wreck ourselves just to try to impact someone else.

~ "...oysters spilling from her palms." All those uncollected pearls of wisdom. Superb, superb metaphor, so beautifully nuanced that it could easily go unnoticed by the careless reader.

~ "...the violin case beside her filled with saltwater and starfish." This is a perfect snap back to reality for the reader. Well...something very close to reality anyway.

~ "The town of Lichthaven existed in the parentheses between midnight and dawn..." Where you came up with that, I have no idea. But I hope that muse visits me one day.

~ "Eleanor wore her mother’s moth-eaten cardigan and ate lukewarm tangerines in the booth..." This is a brilliant statement of the decay and disappointment. "Lukewarm" was the word that made this phrase golden for me.

~ “The films aren’t memories...They’re what’s left when memories rot.”

~ "...her mother sobbing in the projection room, splicing the storm into a canister..."

~ What if the person who is dying is not going to heaven? Or is passing by violent means? How can he help them be at peace?

~ Is he the grim reaper, or one of many? If there are others, are they all the same? (Try the book Insomnia, by Stephen King, which deals with this.)

~ Where does he come from? Does it matter? Does it matter for you, perhaps, but not the reader— so you understand the motivations for the character's choices and behaviors?

~ Can he be destroyed?

Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? (Luke 12:25-31)

~ Keep a strong eye on your punctuation. Punctuation is often neglected or even omitted in poetry and chalked up to "poetic license." However, it can be just as important in verse as in prose. For instance, the last two lines in your first stanza pose a question, but you have ended the fourth line with a period instead of a question mark. That one's more of a grammar thing, but more importantly, punctuation in the second stanza, depending how it is applied, can subtly change nuances of the verse, if not the overall concept. There is no hard-and-fast rule to the punctuation in a poem, but I encourage you to look at it closely, and make it reads exactly how you intended.

~ Consider the vocabulary you use in poems. Some phrases are trite or cliche—you don't have any of these, particularly, but it's something to avoid. Be sparse with articles—the, and, a. You have a tight window to convey your point; don't clutter it with unnecessary words or syllables. Maintain a consistent tone. For instance, beginning the first line of the third stanza with "Sure..." doesn't quite feel like the same confident tone of guidance as the rest of the poem.

~ Don't wander from your point! This is the trap I fall into with stories and poetry, very frequently . Stay on topic. I mention this because the third stanza in your poem points more toward the future than living in the present. It subtly intimates that the reader can or should shift their focus away from the present, which is counter the overall theme of your poem.

~ Periods/Full Stops. Take a breath. Think your thought--just one. If you were saying it to someone, when would you stop for about two to three seconds to take a breath and start s new thought? That's where a period goes. They enable the reader to parse your ideas and statements as he it she reads, and they are indispensable. Without them, the reader feels winded and fatigued. Here's an example:

I am the third 4th oldest of 4 brothers, 2 half and 2 biological-- well one being my twin. When I was born, me and my twin brother got separated, because my mom's best friend couldn't...

The period here ends the thought of your birth, and the thought of your separation behind in the next sentence.

~ Line Breaks/Paragraphs. Once you've converted a collection of similar thoughts, hit ENTER a couple times. It provides a visual line break that cuts me, the reader, that you're done with that part; I can take a second and interpret it before moving on to your next set of ideas. Like periods, paragraphs are absolutely necessary in writing.

~ Slow Down. Take a breath before you write a line, every time. Hold it a couple seconds, and let it out. Write your thought. Repeat the process. Why? I can tell that your thoughts were racing when you wrote this. Your sentences veritably sprint across the page. Take some breaths, take your time. Tell me clearly so you don't have to tell me again, and I don't misunderstand.