Lately at night I’ve danced with a ghost. No,
not in dreams as I often do, but on
my living room’s soft carpet where she flows
and waits after midnight, sometimes crimson
mist, sometimes sky blue striped by gleaming streaks
of moonlight streaming through closed blinds. I hold
her, and she smiles, whispers, What do you seek
in life? How should I answer her? I’m told
to fear ghosts, yet she seems to have enclosed
me long before I was born. What is peace
if not our mystic caress, souls exposed
to the universe’s music? At ease
in this cosmic glow, we sway until dawn.
My arms enfold her long after she’s gone.
Roger Armbrust
August 31, 2009
