a ghost a ghost a ghost a ghost

a spectre
moving listlessly from town to town
stops once then twice
leaving me sliding,
grasping,
as she disappears
as soon as she appeared

a spectre
clad in dust is gold
buried in the bed of the river
enough to keep me constantly
guessing
as I fumble
as she, knee-deep, trudges on

this spectre
oblivious to mountains that provide her shadow
as much as insects that gather in the shallows
and even me
especially
me, the one timidly knocking at her door
she, the one who has no home

photo by Thad Kopec