Your gray ghost, lady,
Withered in my dreams,
Emaciated and austere,
And spoke to me.
I fled it into wakefulness,
Shook my head and wondered,
Then dreamed again,
And Death seemed bothered by the bargain,
Reluctant to attend.
I reached for substance,
Found an eerie ghost
Haunting the final moments
Of cold sleep.
Awake, I shuddered,
Wondered,
And drove you out.
O momentarily drove you out
For a world of ordinary tasks
Expecting to see you smile
Lonely
But unafraid.
You who are the hunted
Haunted me,
And the cancer mellowed
And refused to strike.
And I had more fear for myself
Than you who live with it
Day by day
Defiant in reflection.
Now night is here again
And I retire unafraid,
Full of the sense of science
And doubtful of death and dirge-like calm,
Knowing somewhere you toss,
August in your remembrances.
Jay Cohen