Like Him

Eugene Woodbury

 

He woke in the morning
brushed aside the curtains
of another summer

The house was old
worn smooth to the touch
the barn held up another winter
and the ghosts still lived there

Like him to think of them
as if the feeling could stroke the stone

Like him to think of them
in the still after evening

But now the sunlight 
pressing against the screen
traces lines across his face.