Rachel
Curzon

Ghost sends himself sideways

over the forest, screaming.

There are words

ghost wants to speak

but they are muscled out

by ranged, attentive spruce

& by the screaming.

Last time ghost came here

he watched:

— two jays busily alive &

— a family of red-heads busily alive &

— a longhorn beetle

small enough to kill.

Darks swirl at ghost

           who leans against or into them

screaming.

Yes, the weather is against ghost

           who slides diagonally through

the bleached tundra

           of the canopy

& the wind does not touch

           any ghostly part of ghost

the wind makes

           no impression, none at all,

nor the canted rain

           which arrows its chill through

the endless screaming, through

the massed coagulating darks, through

(again and again)

the ghost

(oh, again and again and again

and again and again)