Poetry Entry #7: Ghosts



We haunt this forest:
ghosts that dart out of sight
with our games, our small feet
splashing through cold, clear dew.

Chasing each other.
Chasing everything.

We launch ourselves out
into our spaces, flying
fast — till gravity and
friction-full air exhaust us.

We sit down. We lie down.
Our breath wanes. It withers.

We chased it well, still
time evades us deftly.
The scent of autumn soil
soaks our nostrils. Twilight falls.

We listen to our heartbeats
and the silence in between.

We are the acorn
launched from the branch’s grasp
forever pulled to earth,
clinging tight to each other.

The forest flows on
Like a leaf floating above us,
Slowly… slowly watching
The unending stream of ghosts




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