photoart: ralph murre
Haunting
by
Jude Genereaux
It
could have been the wind
batten’ed
‘round the house
the
brass chimes maniacally
clanging
against the timbers
waking
me in the hours
those
wee small hours, I used to sleep;
it
could have been the silent moon’s
furtive
sliding through my window
branding
it’s lament on your empty pillow,
knowing
what haunts the little hours
is you.
