MISSING YOU By David Ruslander   Ghosts dance through sunrise over the swamp mingled together asking, "who, who calls for you?" Wind picks black walnuts. They fall with a thud. A line of geese wing over, headed east honking. Suddenly, you are back with teasing glance. For a moment, I am transported from the freeway to your side, walking in hip-waders to the duck-blind. We never hit anything, what was important was time together. Copyright 2001