Poetry of Issue #9        Page 9

Ghost

Another haunts
my bed, not sheets
or mattress that
change over time,
where I lie at night,
settle into a dark
cavern, enveloped
in warmth, shadows
emerge, flicker
and pass, until
I see through other
eyes, those I might
have been, will yet
be, or those that
taunt, the never
was I become
each night, enter
my own ghost,
close my eyes
to what I am.