A spectre in the poem, a ghost, a veil

A spectre in the poem, a ghost, a veil
of red and purple gives the Sunlight hues
and shadows. This moving spirit in the form
of a girl, in the paintings on the walls

and breathing in the museum. The oak trees
hold acorns, the squirrels are running across
the power lines. She's a ghost I can't remember
but can't forget, a name I can't pronounce

or a pronoun unaccounted for. The whistling
of the wind between the houses, the brown
of fallen leaves, the purple bruise I left

on her thigh. You can't bite nothing! I can see
her body moving in the light, the way
the clothing falls over her arms and shoulders.