The Ghost Of An Idea (Poetry)

from ‘The Book of Stray Thoughts’

Her voice is at my ear —
it would be good, she says, to write that down
while the idea is fresh...
I sigh — reach for my pen and scrawl some words.
They sit in lines and look uncomfortable —
under duress.
I cross them through impatiently — take out
the awkward, stumbling thought.

Now she’s whispering again — I have to strain
but the jist of what I’ve caught
is difficult to keep straight in my mind —
I’m struggling with the concept to define
impossible transparencies of form
that will not stay — they float — are floating yet
haunting in the silence of a room
while I’m searching for a voice to fit the tune
my late-night ghost is humming —
her random notes coming — thin and chill
to worry me — sleepless — kept awake for hours
and cursed with listening.