I rose up to shoot a ghost
the bullet of my intention passed through …
in the distance a flower opened
gifted in full view
the ghost, untroubled, turned to look at me
a cusping link of solidarity
while the distant flower snapped its own stem
and floated into the ghost’s open hand
he hovered silently towards my time
offering reconciliation –
I acknowledged the gift with a slow bow
“Namaste, Ghosty” I responded, shuffling uneasily
and putting the flower in a vase of hope
I released the catch of the trap, walked free …
eyeing up the next slippery slope
I looked at the ghost … and he smiled at me.
© Joshua Bond 2017
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