The Ghost of Johnnie Taylor Reflects

At night she would toss rocks at my window

             that disturbed the dust   & left scars  

like the nails of one’s hands. & I would leave  

             my room to unhinge the latch

leading to that which I swore       not to welcome.  

             In any event       the act of opening

one’s door to another’s hunger     implies

             the absence of light.

Sometimes          the call of one’s howl is the only  

             distinction between predator        & prey.

& I have watched the gallop of a sheltered hound  

             lose himself        across the intersection  

of the busiest street         summoned by that  

             which was not love.

In truth             a warm body is the source

             of every song’s demand. Regardless

of how the bedsprings cry out. Or who or what

             enters                 the floral sheets.