Ghost



I see your silhouette
as the moon climbs up out of Anfield
and leaves it's silvery snail-trail
on the river.

I sense the smell of you
in the evening breeze that blows
over the summer garden alive with small
sacred creatures.

your warm embrace is gone
replaced by the cold and clammy
grue of sea mist that chills it's way
deep inside me.

I remember you.

By Hodge