Raised by Ghosts
She said she was raised by Ghosts. I have seen them there
behind the Church, thick knotted and burred branches, hardly fit for caressing.
Not knowing them - not even being able to see or talk to or touch them -
how could I, she said, be anything but terrified?
Behind the Church, riveted by the sight of her ghosts - were they parents, were they siblings? - speechless I stood. As were my comarades: tongue tied, not one movement to their heads, nor across their stiff, thick white hair.
These are the best apples - also behind the Church - much too high to reach.
Eros establishes herself by the proximity of distance. What one cannot devour
remains eternal. Who does not know her (Eros), remember her, dwell on her?
Why are so many intent on devouring the earth?
This Saturday afternoon, October 8, 2005, Noe Valley, San Francisco



