Six Poems

Ghost Life

November. My shadow steps outside, a knit scarf
double-wrapped around his throat,
wearing his feel-good canvas coat, a hand-me-down
with frayed cuffs and an ink splotch where a pen
burst in a side pocket years ago,
on a colder day. A Safeway bag blowing willy-nilly 

     across a puddleful of bricks . . .

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