he comes to me
as he has for centuries
late in the night
after an evening
spent drinking on cloudy bar stools
propped against
the full of bourbon moon
heavy with a longing pocket watch
and the color of my eyes
he pours through
cement street corner shadows
until he arrives
at the side porch of my life
his finger urgently
finding the way
my doorbell sounds
at 2 am
i descend the
sleeping staircase
white night gown floating
and thus the ritual begins
coming to the door
i do not open it
nor does he intend to enter
preferring to remain a wish
rather than live as a regret
we place hands and lips together
kissing through an inch of steamy hour glass
in the doorway of time
mouthing i love you
as he fades into the street lamp light
9 replies on “chronos”
Love a good ghost poem.
Oh, he’s real…
wow. fascinating study of time and continuity as simultaneously overarching and presently absent. like an agnostic’s vision of god, but with a sort of Romanesque awareness of Chronos as both concept and personified entity. equally fascinating is the conceit of chronos as absent lover.
lovely poem, rife with imagery and dense clusters of meaning.
I especially like the stanza: his finger urgently finding the way my doorbell sounds at 2 am — which hints at time’s mutual need for us as participants and observers.
You see much, David…
thank you.
my mind keeps toying with the link between “preferring to remain a wish / rather than live as a regret” and what some might perceive as the safety of unrequited love – the oldest, most honored conceit in western poetry (of the secular sort, anyway)
Your comment ”Oh, he’s real…” is VERY powerful! And the poem…”preferring to remain a wish”….genius
Thank you…
I really love your writing….detailed, dramatic and voyeuristic, your life has become one of my favorite shows
Ha! I’m honored. Life is no less than delicious.