Down on the beach, I see your young ghost play
While your much older ghost, totally smashed,Topples and falls into a tall wave’s spray,
Getting your toddler ghost happily splashed.
A reef of ghosts—none of them real; all true—
Just waves that roll in and retreat again:
A sleepless tide of all that once was you,
Dragging this beach down to the deep of then.
One day—one day too soon—my ghosts will rise
Up from that deep to splash against each other
And smile at life with hopeful, haunted eyes—
The way your ghosts all smile at me, my brother—
Till off they swim, like minnows in a school,
To vanish hissing in Time's tidal pool.
Copyright 2013 by Matthew J Wells