Spirit stirs
with a memory
flirts
with peripheral vision

Flows into a parlor to sit
on a red chair
by a fire not there

Stands by a bay window, gazing
at a river in the distance
snow covered gardens sleep below
no warm breath clouds the pane

Spirit moves from room to room
following footsteps
hearing laughter and sighs
remembering

Lies on a spindle bed
under an eave
no weight to move the quilt
or crumple the sheets

Spirit walks through him in the hall
where he stops a moment, head raised
then he moves on

Spirit sees a tear
as he sits by a screen, reading
poems, writings of long ago

Spirit feels stronger
in his memory at times like these
hears thoughts of how
she was so alive in writings

then, all is as wind, rushing, and
Spirit flows into a parlor to sit–
*
© Marie Jamieson