THESE GHOSTS

They are losing track of time
	again,
I mean, falling back into it,
	these ghosts,
as they visit old haunts.

This is why they appear
	suddenly,
so intent on what they see
they forget invisibility,

take on old bodily forms,
for a moment re-emerge,
	float toward us,
hands outstretched

for their eyes are unaccustomed
to the light, and if they
moan or groan or shriek,
it's that they've forgotten

old manners and most of their
	wherewithal.
Usually they stand and stare,
are strangely
moved, having come back

into our walking, talking
tick tock world again:  
and they utter no words,
	stand speechless
what could they say
	remembering
the way things were?

- Philip Miller

All rights to this poem belong to its author.

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