.
Just a hint of you,
like smoke,
stealing its way
into my dreams.
Perhaps it was a memory;
some psychosomatic sensation
that made a connection.
I never forgot you,
or the sickly sweet
scent of your surrender,
but I never thought
I’d ever plunge
back in
to that drowning pool
again.
Hint of the tropics
in the winter
of northern Canada.
Smells like a cover-up
to me.
Nothing’s sacred
in these boreal frames,
only fire,
and gunpowder,
and whiskey.
Nothing much to hide.
Then again,
we’re both getting older.
I can tell
by that haunted look
in your eyes,
you’ve been seeing ghosts,
or at least,
you think you have.
I’m not sure what’s scarier;
reality,
or watching us both
hide from it.
Mice,
scurrying between the walls,
hiding from the cats
and traps
set in every corner.
Consciousness claws back
what fitful repose
the night brings.
I struggle awake,
still smelling
the incongruous perfume
of your memory,
and wondering
if we are ever
truly here,
in this place,
or are we this disturbed
across many planes
of existence?
Set aside the mind.
Let the body do
what it does.
live
somewhere in between
the “Tic”
and the “Toc”
of time.
You’re more ephemeral, now
than I last saw you.
Just a hint
as I awoke
from dreaming.
Another ghost.
Another
not quite memory.
HG – 2022
