GHOSTS

I hear the footsteps

walking in the corridor between

sleep and waking,

listening to the murmuring become a shout

and the footsteps fading away.

The footsteps haunt my day,

walking

beside me

and behind me,

pacing

in the ramparts of my mind,

High above the wind,

watching life boil down the streets,

I wait for sleep

and listen

for the footsteps.

© 2010 Charlotte Merrill Jensen