After the Divorce
BY Robert Joe Stout
Somewhere in the darkened room
something alive, a voice, not audible
but interrupting where he was. He reaches out
—nothing there. Coffee pot and flowers,
walls, car, images, impressions
in a world of movement, change
and all around him beings like himself
—or ghosts, or angels, dreams appearing
and dissolving, whispers, laughter,
lives like rain descending, rising
to descend again, inchoate, changing,
mere illusions like the wind, the rain.