From West 15th

In rain and close
air, the empty park haunts
her view of what could
have been. More solitude
than romance, determination
not despair, yet this damp
quietude distorts all patterns. Subdued
till a lone man trots along
the southern path. A leather jacket
will need peeling
in sudden heat. And still
she can’t see where ghosts go
to sweat it out.

in medias res redux

Don’t cut your hair, pull a cap
over the lengthening. Invoke
one ghost and two 

other legends still kicking
around what haunts them
at night when stairs are steep, 

a cellar two stories deep. Narrative
or none, consistent not
likely, they do what they want. I 

see you do too and so much younger. You
may catch up to the age 

of your soul, but not yet.