- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Ghosts
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Ethereal enough, so I won't trip,
Yet there is no escaping them, the ghosts
My days have left me. All my waking hour
They will be lurking just behind the door,
Beside me or above me, in the growth
Along the river path that we so often would
Go down together, or behind the rock
We'd sit on when the sun was hot. They dwell
In music and in half-remembered lines
Of poetry; a smell, a slant of light
May make them crowd around me, or a voice
Evoke another yesterday. They're there
Right in the corners of my eyes; they're felt
And they are almost seen, but never quite –
Just try to focus. They will shift away.
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