“Ghosts move about me
patched with histories.”
–Ezra Pound
I am your ghost—a remnant
of a story displaced,
an imposed narrative
suppressed, yet present—
a palimpsest of whispers,
side conversations in the dark
I linger nearby—haunting
the alleyways, the halls,
the edges of memory—
a cause to an effect
intertwined like roses,
or mist rising from the earth
I cannot be exorcised—
nor dismissed—I’ve entered
your voice—your words
are echoes of words
I spoke before I turned
to a story you still tell
(February 22, 2017)
subtext 