Moonlit clouds,
ghostly pale shapes of
aspen, willows,
redwood, pine,
loom
above, around me
in an eerie silence,
like no night on
earth.
And inchoate thoughts, feelings,
rise and drift,
thin vapors, mists veiling the door
between conscious and not;
individual, collective.
I am at once myself
and a thousand, many thousand others
who once lived here,
and whose ghosts
still wander,
neither wholly at peace
nor particularly restless,
seeking friends, lovers,
children long gone
and vanished
in the sea
where all singular things
become one.
Until the sky glows,
faint silver at first,
then ever stronger, golden,
rich, rejoicing
to herald sunrise,
and I know myself blessed,
covered, encircled,
loved,
to wake from a night of
pale ghosts,
uncertain lust,
undefined sounds
and blurred borders
to a morning
like this.
Poem ©1988 by Catherine A. Hampton. All rights reserved. Do not republish or distribute in any form, electronic or hard copy, without the author's permission.
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