You keep returning and I can’t say why.
I wake in the shrouded room and lie still for hours.

Sometimes you speak through the siding’s wind rattle,
in the rasping shingles or the gutter’s drain.

But who interprets these phrases?
No friend. No dictionary.

The dog barks at nothing and chases his tail
to exhaustion. Unlike sound,

light cannot penetrate these windows.
Perhaps the answer lies in the page’s hollow, between

words, or at the free end of a kite’s anchor,
wedged within clouds, echoing

like a cough in a decade’s breath
hammering down after a long illness.

I question afterlife, but dying continues.


This first appeared in Shadowtrain.


56 thoughts on “Ghost

  1. Just beautiful. You seemed to have read my mood, the synchronicity is uncanny.. I am mourning the passage of Alan Rickman and have Truly, Madly, Deeply to view for this evenings entertainment/therapy. His best performance in my humble opinion, playing a ghost.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. The question is there life after death? – “doesn’t matter, I’m still dying.” lmao. Can philosophy really remedy this ache? It’s all about perspective, the mind is a trap for misconception.

    Liked by 1 person

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