A Collection of Ghost Stories and Letters to Loves Gone By... Number 1.

A Collection of Ghost Stories and Letters to Loves Gone By

I.
---Luna lover mother,
constant companion,

i welcome your company tonight.
Your fullness pours down upon me
promising fecundity,
as i offer libations
to this seeming barren landscape –
nightly teeming with life.

Through you,
i touch another.
as present to me as you are.
As distant and ungraspable.

Through you,
i touch another.
Touch her soft pulsing skin
caress the life-giving roundness of her breasts,
responding
as the ocean
to your gentle beckon.
the seasons of your call.

Through you i gain passage
to the dark caves of worship,
where the walls, wet with time,
absorb spaces profound empty waiting.
where death and life dance together,
calling each other sacred profanities,
disappearing each other in continuous embraces of finality.

How can I make altar to you
if i can not see you?
are you so inconstant in my mind now,
that time should hinder phantasm’s touch.
Ghosts take no heed to time.
Only whimsy and desire.

We, my dear, are a ghost story
the moon whispers to the old and lonely.
The light side whispers of hope,
but the dark and silent knows the consequences of regret.

Do you waste time on regret?
I do now.
The delusion that I am the moon’s only lover
no longer interests me.

I want to hear stories of all her darkly encounters
and whisper mine into the smooth seashells
of her young pink ears,
knowing they will echo for eternity,
lapped by the sea,
dreaming of sailors,
dreaming of arriving
and of leaving.

I dream of both – every night.
I am followed by both
Haunted and taunted by both,
beckoned by both,
and i make promises
as well
to both.

After many cycles,
So many turns of the dizzying wheel
I can no longer differentiate.

Always-
I am arriving
and I am leaving.

These past nights,
i have watched the moon rise,
and i have watched her set,
and i finally understand something.

like the tides, my breath, this life
i am arriving
and i am leaving.
and all i can offer along the way
is an open heart
cradled gently in an open hand.

This is the first in a series Ghost Stories and Letters to Loves Gone By.
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