At times the ghost of past mistakes
comes late at night to visit;
he whispers to remind me:
about the paths I should have chosen;
about the things I’ve said or deeds
I did and didn’t do.
The ghost of past mistakes is dressed
in worsted wool and
wears a scarlet bow tie
and a cane;
his scent is that of cod and camphor
and he never stays for long.
I never hear a word he says;
but still I understand and comprehend
the things I’ve done and not.
— At times I cannot sleep.
We write poetry about visits at dVerse tonight. Lilian hosts.
December 5, 2017