Ghost Places


At evening large birds
circle the arbor,
darkness inside,
and, at the great house,
the door hangs wide;
we hear the noises
of glasses and voices,
though no one comes:
see, little sister,
there in the pool —
shards of stone
beside the fountain sleep
like broken children
late for school.

This is the title poem in my new book. To order it, just click on the picture.

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