Looking for Your Ghost

And ended looking
For your ghost.

Drove past old streets
We used to walk

Wooden verandahs
Where we used to talk.

Everything narrow
And confined

Not open
Like our moonlit skies

Where the fall spoke
In drowsy tones

Revisionist poems
In old beater cars

Sipping coffee
Becoming morose

Maybe just becoming—
Who knows?

The years took their toll;
You flew to the coast

Where it rained
Every day.

We vowed
To never grow old

Complacent
But lied…

That was another pose

And now
Here I am seeking you,

Soaked to the skin,
Contrite, cause I lied again...

And visited the coast.