Gary Kissick
A Pact With Spirits
It is a pact I have made with spirits.
They will not reveal themselves.
When I turn to examine an echo,
I'll see no old Chinaman
forlorn in an overcoat
worn thin by moonlight.
When I sleep in the woods,
I'll hear no ancient songs, no women crying
where there are none. The desolate
babies in the graveyard
will be cats. The clack of bamboo
only that. Coat hangers
will not rattle in the closet,
the lock will not come undone,
nor will the rocking chair rock of its own accord.
I, in return, will believe in them.
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Reprinted from Outer Islands, University
of Hawaii Press
