Another Ghost

Night slips
into black silk,
and breathing stills.
Lilac floats
on swollen air.

I wait
in full blossom,
my feet warm
in the spreading moss.

A cricket calls, lonely,
from another valley,
in another hollow.
Another shadow,

another pause.

© 2003

If this old poem has posted without an illustration (and/or with this attached note), it is because I'm just not up to editing it before publishing. I have seven or so entries scheduled to post: two for May; one for June; and two more for September, and then some later.

I hope to be up and visiting everyone soon.