What happens to
Ghosts that lose
Their moans groans
Their scariness do
They become wind
Do they turn
Into a breeze
Or do they
Disappear
Making no sound
I wonder then
What you might
Be for one
Moment you were
Here and the
Next gone without
So much as
A whispered whimper
Leave me ghost
You shall not
Have me my
Soul belongs to
The living those
Who have hearts
That beat loudly
And bleed on
Sleeves when hurt
Be gone ghost
For good now
Low slung sun
Briefly shaded by
Clouds casts golden
Gilt on the
Bushy tops of
Tall trees like
Shave cream on
My father’s brush
Lathered and waiting
To moisten low
Clouds that hang
Like a five
A.m. shadow while
Daisies yawn and
Stretch slowly opening
Like Chinese fans
This quiet morn
Here in Charlotte
And there I
Found you in
The forest glen
Standing tall majestic
Tree limbs spread
Like many arms
Cut you down
I did and
Made you mine
Decorated you with
Memories and small
Star like lights
Sang to you
Surrounded you with
Gifts tied in
Pretty colors and
Then after the
Season I undressed
You and left
You curbside why
Do I waste
Such beauty on
My own folly
The blue sky
Is littered with
Fluffy plastic bags
Wisps of bygone
Moisture reminding me
Of my grandmother’s
Hair blowing this
Way and that
Across her bluer
Than blue eyes
Like a duck
On a pond
I spied you
There sitting in
The marsh pretending
To be the
Trees I heard
Your heart race
Smelling your breath
Fly I will
Giving you thrills
Shoot me you
May not because
I’m free you’re
The wet one
Pretending to be
Something else hoping
To take me
Down by surprise
HARLAN DIDRICKSON 