decked-out in black and white your ghost strides
round the corner of the house, smokes a cigarette, sucks-in
a breath - bends to wield a paintbrush then waves
a beer at me 
as I stand and stare

at weeds growing here
the cream paint peels
and wintertracks of soot and grime 
streak the stone
grass is up rank and thick; uncouth growths choke
the path and sprout
worn spaces in the gable wall

there is stillness here
and silence in the rustle of the grass 
as you pass by
faint lines of smoke waver 
bluely on the air
and a trace of scent lingers ...
I hear your laugh 
echoing my ear - tracks of living 
graze the skin

prickling in a wind that
freshens from the sea, rising to
blow your ghost away - 
insubstantial presence
shredding on the breeze ...
before my eyes it
Collected Works
Return to Collections all
next poem