Dear ghost, what shelter
in the noonday crowd? I’m going to write
an hour, then read
what someone else has written.
You’ve no mansion for this to happen in.
But your adventures are like safe houses,
your knowing where to stop an adventure
of another order, like seizing the weather.
We too are embroiled in this scene of happening,
and when we speak the same phrase together:
“We used to have one of those,”
it matters like a shot in the dark.
One of us stays behind.
One of us advances on the bridge
as on a carpet. Life–it’s marvelous–
follows and falls behind.