Jack Gilbert (February 18, 1925 – November 13, 2012) was an American poet.
A GHOST SINGS, A DOOR OPENS
Maybe when something stops, something lost in us
can be heard, like the young woman’s voice that
seemed to come from an upstairs screened porch.
There were no lights in the house, nor in the other
houses, almost one o’clock. The muffled sweet
moans changed as she changed from what she was not
into the more she was. The small painting became
the gasping. Never getting loud but growing
ever more evident in the leafy summer street.
Whimpers and keening, a perishing, then nothing.
In the silence, the man outside began to unravel,
maybe altering. Maybe altering more than that.