The Cat Follows Me Home

The cat follows me home
Walking through freshly laundered night air
The rain still on its breath.
Over a rise, I see a phantom in my path
Black tatters trailing wide arms
Like a ragged scarecrow––
And then the world finds me
And the phantom is a pine branch
Hanging low over the road.

Like an arching wing
The curved bough carries angels
That I can still see when I close my eyes––
The ghost of a ghost––
If I look at it right, I can make my eyes find it;
Trace out the phantom that was there,
And see it again.
But I keep walking, and the smell of pine
Mixes with the night air
And I can see nothing more or less
Than the casual sweep
Of the arm of a white pine.