Ghost Walk Blues

I once read that troubled spirits cannot depart.  They are believed to walk the same path over and over again, wailing, screaming, seeking closure, and a release from their trauma.  Steps on the flagstones, screams in the well, hallways haunted by the rustle of their garments.

ghost walk blues

morning, night
she walks the perimiter
a lupine shadow, trailing

she commands him to sit, stay
at the end of the driveway
then releases him

he runs, unbridled
sleek with kinetic wolfjoy
scattering leaves in his wake

april sleet
thick as frozen buttermilk
clings to her cold, pale fingers

she laughs, swears
scattering handfuls of seeds
for the chicakdees’ breakfast

who cry out
their highest alert level
until the forms disappear