What happened here
Some ghosts persist
in stalking the coasts
of ruined civilizations,
as if the shades of past
indiscretions are destinations
sufficient for itineraries
and attempts to alter
planned intentions are charged
with penalties that render
changed minds
a prohibitive expense.
Willing suspension
You appear at my door
with tales of your latest shipwreck
complete with the dripping seaweed
that proves you were where you said
you were.
And the intoxication of your latest
narrow escape is the cape
of no return whose hazards swirl
around your shanty tales,
but still it’s the haunting ballade
that opens my door yet again
and I can only make a path
for your sodden return
and swab the steps you leave
as you stumble into rest
and wonder at the song you seek
that sends you always back
to lay your head upon my breast.