The ghosts, the people ones, hover shyly
Lately, unseen in usual places—top of the stairs, in the mirror
Right behind me, the bottom of a bottle.
A board found in the basement back in 1996 won’t attract them.
Instead I stumble upon the translucence
Of a stray dog—even ghosted, still hunting for his owner.
I discover a cat in a window through which
I could watch television, Titans vs Steelers in the background.
How come I keep seeing the flickering
Outline of a weeping willow long since wept away, pulled roots
Back in the day? What’s with the row
Of ghost houses on the edge of town, their porches so inviting
Their arches turned down. I much prefer
Your company, vital & diaphanous, hallmark moon, glassy you.
Come back, I’m learning to be tender, to be whole.