Half-moon morning
bright pink eastern sky
to the south, cool blue
It's January spring
the sun slants kindly on
budding trees
I'm a ghost, walking
the path I walk
every morning
A ghost of honest memory
taking the well-worn path
that I know so well.
The honor of love
is lingering on the air,
a lava heartbeat
I see a woman
in the distance, her muffler
wrapped about her neck
She also sees me
this thin morning ghost
and she smiles
When we meet on the
sidewalk, we do a small dance
in honor of the time.
30.Jan.81
