'Tis Often Thus with Spirits

Not cognac, though possibly cognac
helps us see them stirring—

rather the numinous little ghosties
sloughing off their stardust

in the open field, at night, away from life
and all its fretful particles.

                        —

Ghosts like the open land.
They keep their distance.

By thus of course I mean they often
come up closer anyway.

She sees them, my little girl,
she sleeps with her eyes open

so they can't come in the window.
That works because they have no wish

to occupy a little sleeper, no,
not that. And no messages, no

gluttonous predatory kicks:
They get out there in the open

field, the wilder part of any place,
and move in their own beauteous forms

attired, and then they want
an audience: hungry beauties.

                        —

They know she loves and fears and loves
sublimity. So here one comes,

into the courtyard-made of light, a fierce
little glittering. Presence made of nothing

but presence. We love that ravishment—
we dread not loving it.

Copyright © 2006 Sally Ball All rights reserved
from Alligator Juniper
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission