Spirit Lamp

Brakeman slumps over the iron rail,
cold truth digging into his ribs
and graveyard air filling his lungs

Stoking a cigar with precious tinder
the ash floats down, a gray luna moth
kissing liquid silver of the river

Tattered hat removed by grimy hand
of three fingers, plus memories of more,
plume of smoke roiling the October air

Brakeman likes the quiet after the trains,
down by the bridge, his second home,
across from the graveyard.

Indigo sky, cold tips of wind, he thinks
Tonight I'll see her, the ghost holding
my heart, down by the Ohio

...Happy Halloween to one and all...