Autumn 2012

Ghost Dog

A good day to be black and white, Ghost Dog.

Only the faint colors, the dim emotions, are left.

We can come out from our hiding places. The wanting-to-live

and all its houses

have disappeared.

We can be honest now.

I never liked shapes.

Look, the ice grows more enormous, the final verdict is snow.

So what are you and for how long?

Animal flickering in the arctic.

Across the lake, murk in the murk, coming toward me,

you were like a man,

except for your unhurried trot.

You went right past me on your patrol.

What do you eat, Ghost Dog?

The swirling smoke of the new thing is caught under miles of ice.

In the stopped water, something that isn’t there hits against something that is.

With your circling, are you trying to keep it in or let it out?



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