Sunday, January 27, 2013
When will the ghosts of eternity
clean my dishes hang up my washing
and rake the dry leaves in the back garden?
When will the ghosts of time stop knocking
on my window at three in the morning,
come into the light and smoke on the landing?
When will the ghosts of time do stand-up routines
in the graveyard under moonlight in front of the living
who have nothing but time for them?
When will the ghosts of time run out on us
with only the trail of wind or a door swinging
in the distance to leave us wondering?
A candle stands sentry at the window
smoke lingers and curls from incense
the universe rumbles like an empty stomach;
beyond that as always we are vigilant.