TETHERED TO THE RISING GHOST


Before the light, the ear stops listening,
I run from my ghost with the brightening sky;
I see my shadow in the shadowy mist—
A goddess singing to a star.
I move between the dark and the light,
Mists of the canyons and stars of the night.

What’s sanity but compromise of spirit
In sync with chaos? The night’s on ice!

I know the loss of lost causes,
My body flung away from a dusty floor.
That ghost among the trees—is it me,
Or a wandering soul? The middle is taken from me.

Light, light my darkness, and lighten my soul.
My heart, like some cold-saddened winter’s crawl,
Keeps quiet at the window. Which me is me?
A standing woman, I step into my fate
And now is Now, tethered to the rising ghost.


                   Linda Fretwell
                      ---December 1998