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When He Shows
December 16, 2009
A bright day
turns to shadows and shades quickly
whenever the ghost
shows. Floats across the ceiling
then, suddenly holts
before me.
Unknowing
how to shift I
pause and stare
into his tomb-like
face. Feet resist
to step back, eyes
don’t fight to close, mouth
won’t say a sound. Puzzled by
our silent talk, in my mind
no thoughts seem to come
across. Nothing
heard, no words said. For the
moment, frozen
in time is how
I am.
So, does that mean
too, I am
dead?
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