This is the night before the night All souls come that haunt
us most, the spirits of a time and place I forget the rest of the year, made
more evident this year as those closest to me turn to ghosts, not dead just so
distant I might find no way to reconcile what was from what is and know cannot
be, seeing the shape of her in the clouds at dusk when the nymphs appear, not
mean spirited of the haunting hour later, but a bit of a tease, the taunts I
hear in the gusts of wind as I stroll down strange paths all too familiar
during the daylight hours, this mischief night, that time of year before the
ghosts arrive and recollect those memories to decorate the night time with them,
memories of her clinging to the limbs of trees I pass beneath, haunted
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