Don’t you go

I hear him in the  morning yet he died
I think I’ve got a phantom husband, oh!
I feel an instant touch when my eyes close

His funny faces made me laugh out loud
I called him India Rubber, flexed his nose.
I hear him in the  morning,  though he died

At night I hear him whisper, don’t you go!
Yet the worlds of dreams and image forward flow
I  hear him say my poetry is prose

His sense of humour  was  both deep and wide
He used to  rub my feet  and my bent toes
I hear him every  morning, he’s my guide

I overwhelmed him with my rapid voice.
Up in Hebden we  all speak to go.
I feel  his hand on my silk underclothes

We were children playing, did we know?
A phantom husband  can’t play dominoes
I sense him in the morning as I breathe.
I feel his careful touch, I do believe.