• The Ghosts' Hunt


    Shadow slips around my ankles,
    Carpet crunches underfoot.
    I purr a gentle rhythm,
    cover myself with soot.

    Poltergeists behind me,
    shades are out at front.
    Now we look for souls.
    (This is the Ghosts' Hunt)

    And in a perfect twillight,
    we start our lones'me path.
    We descend the chimney pot,
    escaping through the hearth.

    Our echolalic echoes
    ring within the halls.
    We cannot hear, speak, or feel,
    and yet, our hearts will soar.