our ghosts.



our ghosts accompany


mirrors of distant memory

find to the dusk

like at sea

a memento

in a dream

that eludes me

and floats…

Orange blossoms

into Ophelia’s violets

and the granitic rocks

rush to the red dust

for how quietly time has passed

through the statuary of rock

and forked poppies

with leaves

of loss

it’s only a shadow in your hand…

the ghost of remaining eyes

along the dark

it has e v o l v e d

missing the strange sea

burning in barrels of oil

shaded yet calloused

like Father’s wrists

reeled to train and train

the surf lures the mulberries

the skin breaks

and returns to the everness of fingernails

and pitons,

it’s a shadow to the sea

and to lose it is

where the ocean lures

the spine of root and stone

to the allurement of the dark

blood-warm under the stars


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About Jonathan Caswell

Mr. Caswell has been composing poetry at least since High School. He has been on WORD PRESS for ten years and contributes to two other blogs beside this one. This blog has a Christian emphasis but all bloggers are welcome. Mr. Caswell chooses to---with permission--re[post material of interest

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