speaking of ghosts

taking advantage of some small spaces of time
here's a recycled bottle: fill it



west

it's a warm rain falling right now
and the woods have gone very green
a shade that only comes with a late shower.

i'm driving just to get there:
grey stripe threading green distractions.
then the precious black of night
drops into my pocket like a baby jar full of bells, or

ink stains on somebody else's couch maybe
and the cd changes over and then there's more music
and there's more rain
and everybody's stopped on the side of the road
in the same space of night and nothing moves

except the wind and the water

speaking a language neither of us will understand.

can't stop listening
                              can't panic
                                               keep driving


-- jul '16