UNTITLED

The words take shape

Over the empty page

That once reflected your shadow

Back at me.

 

In the instant you left,

Your void was filled by words –

Unspoken, only thought.

 

They fought to crowd your ghost

From all the rooms

You once called home.

 

And over time,

They came to be

All that was left of you.

And I inched my way into their acceptance –

A familiar face, like an old drinking buddy.

 

And, as I’ve spent more time with them

Than you, they are now more real

Than you ever were.

 

Why look past yourself for proof?

Are the ghosts conspiring

An impassioned return?

 

 

                                    (c) jim hill (7-25-05)