(John William Waterhouse’s The Lady of Shalott)
You sit just out of reach
but only the peripheral.
Direct glances hide you
in the corner of my eye I catch
but only in shadowy form.
My heart beats staccato
thinking it recognizes you
but only wishful thinking.
I catch your memory
I hold it’s hand
confidant that it will be eternal.
**I wrote Ghost after reading The Lady of Shalott by Lord Alfred Tennyson.
‘I am half-sick of shadows’. The Lady of Shalott