Today's poem is by Sally Ball
'Tis Often Thus with Spirits
Not cognac, though possibly cognac
helps us see them stirring
rather the numinous little ghosties
sloughing off their stardust
in the open field, at night, away from life
and all its fretful particles.
Ghosts like the open land.
They keep their distance.
By thus of course I mean they often
come up closer anyway.
She sees them, my little girl,
she sleeps with her eyes open
so they can't come in the window.
That works because they have no wish
to occupy a little sleeper, no,
not that. And no messages, no
gluttonous predatory kicks:
They get out there in the open
field, the wilder part of any place,
and move in their own beauteous forms
attired, and then they want
an audience: hungry beauties.
They know she loves and fears and loves
sublimity. So here one comes,
into the courtyard-made of light, a fierce
little glittering. Presence made of nothing
but presence. We love that ravishment
we dread not loving it.
Copyright © 2006 Sally Ball All rights reserved
from Alligator Juniper
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission
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