Ghost

 

Ghost

There was a time,

When time enough

Made the future—-

How very young we were.

 

Tumbled years,

These decades,

Full, with rich mistakes

And stiletto regrets,

 

Never forgetful,

Secrets roll back.

Ruins

Appear

More,

Desolate than when they fell.

 

‘Sarah’s Rocks’

The family‘s Norman land in clan,

Came down

Before the iron hand of English claim.

 

Who’d have thought

That towers of stone

Of warrior bone and granite

Would crumble silently alone,

In moss and bog?

 

‘Naive‘, she smirked

‘Intemperate‘, she scolded—-

A dreamer’s game

Holding on to the myths of

an ancient name.

 

She was right, of course

About naive and intemperate,

but not about honor.

Her family survived

Bartering,

The notion of its blood.

 

For all of that

We were the same.

She, born of pogroms

And flight—-

Nightmarish escapes into the night.

 

It’s a small price to pay at the end

When most was routed—

To hold the centuries

In a name long rooted

In the tribes of time.

 

Forty years ago

When love was new,

There we were,

The poor idealist and

voluptuous parvenu.

 

New love

And steamy nights

Soft touched and hard edged

The going-on delights

Ended,

 

In storms and gales

And pelting heart-ice hails.

When another, deeper love

Opened

It’s bitter betrayals.

 

It was fault

In weakness,

In strength

To go the length of self—-

Selfish and stunned in the sacrifice.

 

The battle

Won

At the loss

Of intimacy and

Bitter lover.

 

We learn over time,

Freedom’s cost

Is a terrible toss of fate

For many of us.

 

Ever new,

Coming out

Among

The mossy ruins—-

Sarah’s rocks

Remembers the ghost wife.

 

 

 

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