Tag Archives: ghost
The opaque gist and myopic blurring of a freshly risen ghost opening its eyes for the first time, wordless in the beginning.
Shrouded in white fire, barred from true exit, she, a marvelous and fearful shudder, is torn mysteriously from dreams rounded by the sleep of babes fitted to gallows.
All my life I have had lighted window syndrome. Being outside someone’s window at night, and seeing the lighted window, its warm amber glow was an invitation to feel a sense of home, not to be at home, … Continue reading
Winter’s brides, wearing long white scarves of sleet and song, touching pale sky to blue lips, breathing memory and frost; their sorrow and spectral want grows hands that enclose me, a robust crush, matrimonial in its grip, until I am … Continue reading
Dancing on the lighted rim of fasting hours, cased within this borrowed corpse, savvy and perishable, and rigged to fade, I bless my ghost, in advance, as it cedes to claim a future plot without my name to bind its … Continue reading
Hurry Slowly was the tictoc mantra of the one-armed photographer, Josef Sudek, who praised and made lasting secret love to his Muse and ghost-veiled bride, Prague, vowing his fugitive eye to her and her alone.
Grief, engendering the climes of Winter’s wraith, or, how the sound of white fire, falling, in reverse, encloses the dead in penitent refrain.
Today: Bidden by tatters, and gravity’s mutable arc, the palpitations guide me. They are subtle, duly engaged, a milk-slow run of shivers. Bracing the rim, I peer out of cavedark: everything is sudden, color-soaked, a ferocious din and melt, fringed … Continue reading