The Ghosts of Past Lives

Like footfalls and hammocks

And snails and cured salmon,

The hoof, then the roe flits undertow,

To the peen of the hammer’s red, red ends

Old gypsum and christening

The newest glad tiding to

Bestow, ill-flavored pathways

Marked by delicately placate hues

Fairy dust and prawn shells

And magicians in stairwells,

That knew the words,

 Yet to stain the cellar’s dwelt

Chamois and lilies

So softly knitted, giddily we

Sip, upon cola and sloe gin, fizziest

When beside tall grass and silted sand

                                    Where a tomorrow’s yet been dealt

                                                      And a future’s yet to dry

A presence can be present, even for the ghosts of our past lives