Haunt

     It's a common story, me
     circling the Union at Stanford, flipping through a paper
     sighs pouring out of the buildings like black coffee
 
     Echoing archways near the fountain
     meaningless to anybody else but
     there you are
     Rollerblading by in your little black dress as I
     pop you into my camera for Christmas

     Ghosts are meant to be cursed
     but I have learned to hold my tongue -
     you have this habit of bestowing your features on
     leading ladies, jewelry shop clerks
     high school girls on beaches
 
     I'm sure they've spotted my mystified gaze
     tossed over my shoulder like a blue scarf at their
     shifting triangle smiles, apple-cider eyes
     white chocolate dimples, high-wire curls

     Come back when you like, shade of my heart
     haunt me, shake me, draw me out
     no need to call ahead
     because these days
     when the words pour out of me like silver breath
     I couldn't bear any less

     I look up from the page and find you
     framed by the window in a halo of fireflies
     a Russian princess in a dark coat
     and then, you come in
     and sit at my table


     Michael Vaughn  (Click for bio.)


      


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