I Am A Ghost

…and I start to speak…a dream
speech, oration from a place
deep within, and to be honest
it makes little sense in my head:

Weather: rain,
limited sunshine;
leftover clouds.
Gray sky like veins
in granite;
pink glimpses,
a response to gray.
Red-tinged snowflakes
at night in a darkness
nothing could break…

When I speak of
of this strange nonsense
it makes little, frightening sense,
and the horizon feels so distant.

So how do I proceed? Shall I speak,
put air behind it,
form words to make it plain
and clear that I’m speaking
plainly in a language
that should be clear
even when it is not?

I try it out
and say it to you:

Weather: rain,
limited sunshine;
leftover clouds.
Gray sky like veins
in granite;
pink glimpses,
a response to gray.
Red-tinged snowflakes
at night in a darkness
nothing could break…

If I speak like that
of the weather, of the sky full
of portents, if I use words
that meant little till right now
and you are puzzled,
hoping I’d reveal an explanation,
the unvarnished truth
of it would be held within
a series of questions —
is it meaningful? does it
speak to you? will you ask more
of me, ask me to explain it?
will you stay with me
until it’s clear?

Say it again, though you haven’t
spoken yet; say it
out loud:

Weather: rain,
limited sunshine;
leftover clouds.
Gray sky like veins
in granite;
pink glimpses,
a response to gray.
Red-tinged snowflakes
at night in a darkness
nothing could break…

You must understand that these are lines
from a poem I will try to write.
I don’t even know the poem yet
and I won’t until it’s written.
Someday, maybe when I’m gone
and all but forgotten, these words will be clear
and will appear before you one day
when storm or driving rain
comes forth in darkened sky
with that moon somehow
breaking through
a small slit in gathered clouds.

You will sit down and write this poem
and take it for your own, of course,
of course.

After all, I’m just a ghost,
just a ghost…
a ghost in soaking rain.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T