Not empty at all, really. Your spirit
shakes all walls sometimes, though mostly hovers,
saturates eternal space and soft light
surrounding your chair, our bed, old lovers’
silhouettes suddenly appearing then
vanishing like night fog in wind. Wisping
whispers of the past pause, caress the skin,
lingering an instant, then lost. Slight spring
aroma, surely lavender, signals
your presence and history. How do you
stay and go like this? Once, your ghost enthralled
me as I taught my evening NYU
writing class. I stood cloaked in reveries,
then woke to my stunned students' staring eyes.
Roger Armbrust
June 7, 2009
