3263. LONG GREEN LEGGINGS

LONG GREEN LEGGINGS

You know how you lose something, you
know how you feel? I feel that. I have lost
everything in one place : the yellow ideas
of desert and sun, the wash of the open sea,
rolling back in. Right here, I have nothing left.
Characteristically, I am shamed to say; I turn
about, wistfully regretting the time already spent.
Behind my back, the MacReady Vapors already
exhale - mist and fog down low, hanging from
Bentley Creek to Waverly Glen. Unlike the mist,
I'm all of a mind to disappear, and take
the vast world with me.
-
A new version of a Halloween stoops, drops
down before me, as a ghost in whitened leggings.
I recognize the form, yes, but cannot place the face.
Ghouls and foul curmudgeons, ghosts and spirits
rank, each of them rue me with their noises;
a crescendo of instruments now playing
from Hell, from a place where I am
baffled still and found without a
knowledge, knowing nothing.
-
Before me rises a tall green house; old and
dilapidated, said haunted, running on
nothing but fury and stealth. It has its
own darkness, room to room and
light to light. And that is where
I dwell. Third floor up, at the
top, where that blackening
light now tries to shine.