Your ghost is everywhere--
In every falling leaf
In each cup of ginger tea.
The hot baths & boiling showers.
Old National Geographics & the golden early morning light.

I always wait too long to escape up north,
Where it's cold and no one is swimming.
I hope that the sun heats the sand
To warm my feet,
Like when I crawled under the blankets
To cup your toes in my hands,
And breathe my hot, moist breath on
Your pale frozen skin,

Passing the Dixie highway, the Baptist sign reads,
"Are you on the right road?"

I can still feel your hand in mine,
Solid as stone with
A blanket of flesh
That I kiss to warm.