Poem: The Ghost of Old Mistakes

The Ghost of Old Mistakes

It creeps, grey smooth,
the almost air, the darkening,
the shadow off a wall
and letting it inside
was never wise,
letting it begin
meant too much,
was not a bargain
that could be closed.
It was always more,
was rising, and now
it is going on
even when
it is not there,
is always in the clouds,
is the cloud that comes
and there isn't rain,
not now.  It is dark
but there is nothing
as refreshing
as the rain.

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