Ghost of a thing

to be slow patient unexpectant but you have to be there and when nature gives to you then you really are alive it doesn't have to be grand or dramatic like a bird of prey more likely small and exquisite like the light on a starlings chest or beetles wing but it always does give if you are there Small Almost inconsequential The skeleton Of the ghost Of A thing Scampered Across his path Recent and ancient The ghost –of–the– thing sat close inside Close to his heart Slowed each forward step Wanting him to recognise The part It once played To shape his life when you are there on the tops and the mists roll in you don’t know where you are even those places you have known so long look strange shapes loom and leap to confront you fill each sinew with fear until it overflows In him she tripped a sensing of desire not just his own but hers too running deeper more open not fired by temporary longing rather something he could savour slowly in every moment she dwelt in his thoughts sweet and special outside of their time life took on a relaxed urgency to tell all of the little he had come to understand Dream sellers peddling the king’s new clothes happy to tell naked lies They’re gonna die alone but they act like they don’t know it It’s not that they wouldn’t care when they stand so there high and wide there’s nothing alive inside