\ Ghosts who(?) wayfared here, traveling lonesome on the wind

~     ~     ~

Glimmered silhouettes

in the blown-out, 

tussled hair of a love

and when we notice, 

the mind stained 

with yearning 

|nostalgique|

for something 

not quite placed, 

but known 

in another sense

|cacher|

\

Another life

presenting as a show 

of tenderness 

|tendresse|

on a windswept 

night,

rushed away 

into prairies

& cotton fields

stripped bare

\

Laughter sweet

from children. 

Centuries,

generations, 

now passed, 

wandering across their 

stolen lands 

and not a tree 

to shelter for miles.

|obscène|

You cannot measure their mass.

More akin to pressure 

than substance/atoms. 

.           .          .          .

When the sun falls

departed daylight, 

deported day labor

the incessant chthonic howl 

clawing

through window panes enough 

to drive you mad. 

/

Enter distraction

|rencontre|

old piano hammers 

detuned clanking 

out hymns neath dim lit

cast green down walls

adobe thick, 

swaying in the draft

\

Don’t misassociate the wind 

with the sky, with heaven, 

lest we forget our ghosts

|nuit|

Somewhere near Alpine, TX