Charleston

A stop on the road to our fate,

A layover of lasting longing
that echoes off the past we learned
about that morning beneath a
blanket, following the scent of
horses and the wonder of finding
books thought lost. You dropped into sleep
as I read, your head in my lap,
Briefly feeding an honestly
acquired deprivation. Then,
an ancient cemetery after
dark, with such life radiating
from us we wondered if it could
reach those below upon whose
decaying drudgery we now
danced, surrendering our gasping
realities to return to dust
with them. We departed with hands
and hope holding, forgetting the
afterlife the dead often acquire.
We were followed by smallish hauntings
Of that which we tried to bury…
Ghosts of Charleston on a pilgrimage
To Alabama.