the ghost

always, an expectant tilt
of the head, as the bus
trundles to a stop,

and my eyes seek
you, sifting frantically through
the immaterial throng

for the comforting warmth,
like a well-worn blanket,
of your presence.

when you are not
there, still your spirit
haunts me; you are

the ghost in my machine,
traversing the crevasses
of my soul, my mind.

always. you will stay
immortal, an unvanishing
apparition in my memory.