Your ghost Jocelyn, is here in this hot summer night,
As heat lightning flashes silently and brightly across
The far side of the like, where demons and dreams linger.
You’re alive still, having long outgrown me and our
Childhood games and mischievous days on the lake,
In the waters where mermaids bore us to Eden.
I am, alive, or perhaps dead, left with my own loss
And broken sleep and dreams that turn to ashes
As I try to close my hand around incense smoke.
I sit on the dock with a bottle of red wine, watching
The heat lightning that’s roar I cannot hear or touch,
Just as I cannot hear or touch your grace, now we are grown.