Night Shadows

They are out there,
as - more - real
than you or I; products
of a disturbed
mind

gone

mad,
some would joke. Others
would claim they are naught
but nocturnal hallucinations;
a mixture of half-sleeping
conscious and unconscious
dream-states.

The other third, assuming
the output of a skilled,
storying, mind weaving
another tale to amuse
and titillate the mind.

But -
they are wrong.
They are all wrong
and he knows it. Knows,
but cannot prove -
so convinced are others
of other realities.

So
he says nothing - nothing
but the words here where
none but you
will hear.

Words of how, late
in the guttering wind
of a coming winter's chill
when the small hours were all
cross-woven midnight
black and shimmering ghost
light of summer's last full moon -

he stood
naked
in the dark
smoking
one
more
thought
before
trying

once more
to sleep.

Bushes
on sight's edge
rattle
one
after the other -
he watches soundless
shadows of shadows
leap towards low-slung,
grabbling branches.

The cold clicking
of nails quietly recedes
up the great Doug Fir.

One,
two,
three -
silent shadows leaping
further into the night -
they are gone.

Nothing left, only the voice
of a ghost whispering
to the ghost
from quiet winds
while a dead woman's
wind chime chimes -
a last thought
is expelled.

No one to see what
he sees - no one
but the stars; No one
to tell, no one to know
the truth - only those
who would tell Bones
it was a dream - no one
to tell, no one to hear
except you -
here.

_{(For A Friend :: 2010-09-23 02.49)}