Ghosts I've Met

I’ve seen ghosts
(It didn’t matter
if I believed in them
or not) –

shredded by fog,
standing in formal clothes
outside in the moonlight,
untouched with the early wet
that flattened dank hair
to my skull.

They just stood there,
waiting with that
patience peculiar
to the dead –
the unhurried pace
of the forever too late.

I’ve heard ghosts
talking in night’s
peaceless quiet.

They droned on and on
about inane things,
sometimes screaming,
sometimes drowning out
the crying cows
whose calves are taken
(who, like Rachel refuse
all comfort) –
it is a heartrending sound.

I’ve grown quite skilled
at separating them
from real life.

I can even recognize their voices
when they flow from living mouths
who think their thoughts their own:

hell voices using pretty words –
the words we’re conditioned to love –
but cold malice grins beneath;
the goblins always shines through
once you learn how to look.

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