#982 - three poem drafts for ghost writing - when young, eucalyptic, all my life

 

14.ix.22

982

3.256

(drafts of three possible last poems for ghost writing)

 

when young

 

had the feel of what one couldn’t know

of a place perhaps –

presentiments of unremembered hopes

or things known long before

 

I feel it for a moment now

no, less

 

but who was before hope, what?

and who is now remembering?

 

perhaps it’s where we are

 

a faded thing

met half way

 

the house itself is gone

there’s no way to return

 

 

 

 

eucalyptic

 

slept beyond myself

 

sometimes look in the clock to see

 

opinion against, as often so many

 

I slept too far

and broke the night

 

run with the idea wherever

am not a voice at all

 

how would I ever get back?

I won’t

so may thus remain

 

 

 

 

 

all my life

 

wore the clothes of the dead

and I spoke with their words

 

remember our prayers

were the news twice a day

 

once when we were all alive

and thought you’d never catch me

 

one death brings back another

the ghost hug is a miss

runs through

 

sometimes see the living flit

 

fell asleep in my chair in the afternoon garden

won’t say that I have a plan

but this may be where I will stay

 

in life I was only learning to sleep

now we are perfecting the art