Wooden knuckles of bare branches knock on the window
And spin around in a wind dance as clouds close in.
Then, rain drops slap, surprised, against the glass
What a fall from thousands of feet to come to that end!
You shouted your last exit from this house one year ago,
And for a moment your shape re-appears.
Tonight the compost of that memory slips
Into the cradle this empty house.
Red clouds under lit by a low sun sink
Just where the land ends and the bay begins.
Just outside, I can hear a little girl
Shrieking in delight that she’s seen a ghost.
Quieter still it grows as a single dog barks
Into the blanket of charcoal night.
October 2009
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