Not sure where this one came from, to be honest. I sketched it out months ago and then closed the book on it. Do you believe we can see the dead?
Apparition
My favorite trees stand
sentry, naked and bare.
Along the open road,
paved with rippling mirages,
my childhood memories spill forth.
Above the grandfather clock,
towering, tawny, tarnished,
something pulses–a shadow, a spirit?
My heart chokes
and spits
out my soul.
Who says we cannot see
the dead?
Image by Dorothe from Pixabay.