The ghosts visited again today,
Blurs of rose and silver rising
From behind closed doors
Bringing with them the scent of summer
And the taste of tears
Bringing the promises made -
Sitting on the benches in the sun,
In city streets after midnight -
Whispered in the predawn light.
Shivers of words, promises and love
Running down her spine
Pooling in her eyes
Caught tight in her throat
They spilled out slowly,
As the scissors cut,
Trying to ease the pain
To send them back behind the iron doors
Or to see them swept away,
For if they can’t recognise her
They can’t find her.
For the ghosts will visit again.