The ghost

Isn't it amazing how

Easily we waste time?

The tide has fallen once again

Out there on Manana where I can see it

As a discolored band of seaweed.

And the old guy who just walked by

Is also a kind of clock for us

With his little dog off-leash close behind.

I know too much about things

That would seem not to matter

In the larger picture

But as I age I realize they do.

At the same time I know way too little to judge

What is important.

Some perfectly decent and well-meaning people

Sense this about me

And, for that reason, ignore me

In conversation

If there is that option.

There is no solution to my feeling irrelevant sometimes

Except to accept the complement

That I make good coffee

From the very people

Who choose not to engage with me

In conversation.

The ghost of Shirley's father

Appeared in my dream last night.

He was asleep, curled up on the couch when I came home.

He was suffering indigestion.

He didn't know that he was a ghost

And had tried to eat some leftovers.

Ghost do not eat,

So he got sick.

He came because something was off kilter.

What it was was not clear,

But I had my suspicions

As (in the dream)

I had just started a new job

As a programs-analyst.

The dream ended with me

Resolving to take care of the problem

So that he could find peace.

(Selfishly, I am glad he came

Because I got to tell him I loved him.)

But doesn't this raise interesting questions,

Such as what is important in the larger picture

Which is nearly perfect here

On the day that we are leaving

On the rising tide.