I walked and dropped things

my eyes first

they rolled down the hill

then my ears

they fell into a patch of mud

then my nose

it caught on an old stick

then my mind

I draped it acoss a barbed wire fence

it followed me home

stinking like a dog that rolled in muck

I will not linger to join the company of haunts.

The world is overfull with ghosts.

They shadow our footsteps, stain our windowpanes,

And walk the streets in silent hungry procession.

They watch to see if we remember.

We do not, not enough, never enough to give them life.

I will not take a place in this bread line, though I’ve seen faces there I know:

A grandfather in tattered black coat; a poet from a vanished land;

A goddess still in half-bird form.

I leave behind kindnesses you can have, dreams you can hold,

But not myself. Forget me entirely; I will be gone.