Ghosts flickered in and out of view

looking like an old Technicolor 50’s film,

as I skim the channels of rememberance.

Ghosts squint and smile from unsteady shots,

like a worn old, 8mm home video image,

dance and remind us of

times gone by, times of greatness,

of fame and fortitude.

Ghosts are washing the hurt

they soothe and relieve my fears.

Flipping page after page of old snapshots,

sliding fingertips across the yesterdays,

silently gliding over glossy heartaches

of those gone and those left behind.

Ghosts are reaching out to me.

As ghosts pass through our lives

unexpectedly with unpredictable

origins and destinations, the only certainty is that

at any minute there will be another one.

Often when I see a ghost I wonder;

what the difference might have been,

what turns, which twists, what other children,

what other loves and I stop…

5/20/95