Walking With Ghosts

I hear whispers moving towards me

Across the fog over the bay

A grey morning, cold

To chill the bones

The ones walking and the ones that lay

Beneath the shining lawn

Where frost clings to the grass

The white picket fence circling

A cricket field built over graves

Young girls in coffins of glass

Hands identically clasped

Over silent hearts

My own like a drum

Beating to warm my blood

As ghosts of my own escape from my mouth

Only to dissipate as I reach

The pathway of sunlight

A golden mist envelops me in a flood.

2020-now