I golf at night and let the poetry pour out of my brain
Tree branches are silhouetted against the sky
reminding me of neural connections
I choose inspiration instead of perspiration
swinging the golf club in the dark
I love the smell of the dirt and the fresh cut grass
and the pace of play is perfect
A fog moves in
and I feel like the Great Gatsby
walking down the fairway to find my ball.
Golf Course Ghosts whisper
and I listen for their answers
Remembering what I am told
Then running home
for the nearest
blank sheet of paper.