To Gaze is a Ghost

by Steve Scafidi

Notice how the curving waves
       of her hair lay across
the pillow and the pillow holds
       the shape of her sleeping
and the face betrays her sleeping.

Notice the eyelashes like hay
	combed after moving—
Notice the forehead as calm
	as the white of bones. See
the way the line of the nose

descends to the rested valley
	and cliffs of the upper lip.
The way the sheet luffs up
	when she moves a little
from the dream she makes up

as she goes and all the facts
	of that kingdom blind to us.
The way a teacup rests
	in the flat paw of the bear.
The silence of the forest

deepening the sad ghost 
	of her father flying overhead.
Even the mockingbird hunched
	in a nest in the middle branch
of the pine sleeps. We find peace.
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