Late nights, with summer moths clinging br to the screens & the shadows of the Old Great br flickering across the tv screen, suddenly, br there would be Charlie's inquisitorial head br peering in the window, the shock of white hair, br followed by the heart-stopping shock br of greeting. Just passing through, he'd say, br and--seeing as the light was on-- br thought we might have ourselves a talk. br br Did I ever have time enough for Charlie? br Usually not. The story of my life, br of the one, as Chaucer says of someone, br who seems always busier than he is. br Then, abruptly, & discourteously, br death put a stop to Charlie's visits. br Summer moths collect still at the windows. br Then leaves & winter ice. Then summer moths br again. Each year, old ghost, I seem br to miss you more and more, your youth spent br with Auden & the Big Ones, words-- br theirs, yours--helping you survive br a brutal youth. Too late I see now br how you honored me like those hidden br gods of old who walk among us like br the dispossessed, and who, if you are br among the lucky ones, tap at your window br when you least expect to ask you for a cup br of water and a little of your time.