no touch

no touch

no touch

night on the estuary
a wind thumping home
the rain thumping waves
into the steeper low-tide
shore heard and not seen
you know the sadness
of ghosts along this
esplanade nothing fearful
no fear that they
are with you in your
thoughts in the brush
of air through a still room
like a hand that
aches with gentleness
all you rightly fear of
ghosts is that no touch
of yours will ever
wake them into
your day

the pure sadness
is this alone
this night of
remembered
festivals

december 24, 2015
bucklands beach

Copyright © 2015 Peter Le Baige. All Rights Reserved

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