I’m in love 
with a ghost 
oh no not 
a spirit for
he is flesh
just a ghost 
not a memory 
either for he
is here partially 
anyway a cat
or a hummingbird 
or a holiday 
that comes around 
every so often 
ghosts need love 
too I suppose 
for isn’t love 
at its essence 
something that haunts 

I wonder now 
had I’d known 
then would I 
would I have 
anything that I’d
had or would 
I’d have not
for had I’d
never then the 
not I’d had
wouldn’t be the 
have that I’d
never have had 

Sitting here in the 
early evening on some 
indiscriminate Sunday in some 
late season month surrounded 
by things of me
and candles and listening 
to some chill Sade
I look at the 
chair opposite of me 
and remember you there
curled up feet under 
that one time just 
like this one time 
and the emptiness now 
wishing so wishing filled 

I remember Paris
and that one 
rain soaked street
running along the 
Seine on that 
cold sleepless night 
umbrella in hand 
galoshes on feet 
and the sound 
of those drops 
none at all 
but for me 

This is where
the when and 
how unknown so
to the what
and why why
oh why cried
but after tears
why dried up 
leaving me what
and how and
when and where