JOHNMICHAEL SIMON POETRY

My eyes see shadows
of departed ghosts
peering from the corner
of the last millennium

 

Frail people flit
like lace between
the rooms behind
opened doors
free-falling into
un-numbered clouds

There are gaps too,
locked places
bricked-up walls
hiding dark entrances
and exits
through which
even the wispiest
ghosts can’t pass

 

Sure, some of them
are preserved
fully dressed and solid
in museums, waxworks
libraries and theaters
but the vast anonymous
crowd float like papers
in the wind down
the centuries to a vast field
where cackling witches tend
the bonfires of the souls

 

In the air
their ashes float
and disappear
into the night

 

While behind a wall
a bricked-up skeleton
grins a secret smile
and laughs in private mirth