Unfleshed Spirits of the Mountains

21 Jun

Tonight I found my kryptonite
in your tears. Alone with
too much space
I listened far too loudly
for your steps
upon my door.

All I heard instead
was the whistling
of a duck’s wings
as it flew by, and I
simply fell away
to the mountains.

Tonight I shiver and feel
just like the skeleton trees
that surround me.

I am saved from death
by the memory of fire
and the hunger moon
hanging above my
weary head.

In the vally below the
haunted people
grasp out
at the night with
their delicate hands
like drowning
constellations.

A cold rain falls down
hard. Something like
mist begins to
cloud my vision, and
all the ghosts
of the mountain
scramble
to life
around
me crashing
into my brain.

The lights of
a thousand fires
burning bright whispering:
“flies will eventually pray
on all our eyes.”

The next morning I awake
to the smell of
wet pines
and look down
at the unfleshed
spirits like smoke hovering
over a still lake. Slowly
they move onward
to haunt someone
else done with me
for now.

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