(1) Not Quite a Ghost. (2) Sunday Morning.

                    1.

        Not Quite a Ghost.


And as you walked away from me
I remembered the child that you once were

Four hours gone
Your expensive scent remains
In the textures of the back room
Transforming every fabric
Into a Succubus of memory

Even the indoor rose bush
Has flowered out of season
Adding a delicate tenderness
A pure ethereal beauty
To the heady mixture

Outside in the rain
The dead leaves on the garden path
Spiked into broken threads
By your high heals turning
As you turned to wave goodbye

A child waving from a distance
No adult could encounter
Your blue eyes wet with sobbing
Your white umbrella knocked and turned about
By a gust of wind


Trevor John Karsavin Potter.
November 28th. - 29th. 2017.

                    2.

       Sunday Morning.


Alert and assured
I walk downstairs
To greet the sun

This is my happiest hour of the day
Before car doors bang
And the telephone rings

Now 1`m at ease with the whole wide world
Pouring the coffee
Counting the roses
Honey melting on my tongue -
You asleep in our darkened bedroom
Curled in your basketwork of dreams

But the moment your hand rests on my shoulder
I cease to be who I think I am


Trevor John Karsavin Potter
November 4th. - December 1st. 2017.