Breadcrumbs from a Ghost

Who is this specter

that is always with me-

these visions of my own trepid spirit

constantly flung beyond these

hours?

I haunt my own dark halls.

All the years of my life

already plowed under, rows

of days mounded and punctuated

with seedling moments, a string

I wished would stretch

beyond the horizon,

but that evaporates each

morning with the dew.

I am merely the ghost that

fills these hours, these words-

essential oils dripping from

a weathered cask through

withered vein; a trail

I leave behind, along

the path to a river- that rushes

on to the infinite sea.

My soul

is already moored there

swaying invisible on fathomless,

gray waters, in a pale boat

named Eternity. This is my

message in a bottle. The only

way I know,

for you to find me.