Spirit Moves

What can I say?

     The grass leans that way
     and light pours between.

     Dusk shakes shadows
     from the hours.

     In empty houses far from towns,
     curtains breathe
     through open panes.

          And suddenly I am home.

     I invest myself in being led
     to certain strangers’
     doorways;

     in lying unnamed with my days
     across a grandfather’s grave.

          And suddenly I can fill anyone
          with lamppost light
          that shivers like leaves
          near bays;
          with the patience
          that carefully wears
          all lives from slate.

          And you recall
          moonlight over church roofs.

               You smile in my distance.

     Wind pushes smoke into my eyes,
     and I can live in quiet persistence.