November 26, 2017

Spaces left by ghosts of other spaces     waves

not reflecting but fizzing the moon

like an old fashion Alka Seltzer


If I dig      sometimes     I find water underneath,

a ghost puddle,     out of place

rain engorges it      hear it from my window

the rattling rocking the boats

floating on the light turquoise fabric

against the dark behind the glass


The rain is slowing down now

drops from a popsicle on toddler hands

waiting for the other shoe to drop

but that won’t happen   there isn’t another foot

except for the six ones under which

I buried my grief


What is left of you may find its way

                       resurfacing through that puddle

You shouldn’t bother    really. You are

always here     in the water I drink 

and in the one I don’t

           a thirsty presence.


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