GHOSTS
...But who is the ghost in the poem?
Translucent figures reached for me, whispered names I thought I knew, tried to mask each face they wore, but I knew them through and through. Answered questions asked of them with more questions of their own, nowhere in the words they spoke, dwelled the ones I thought I’d known. I watch myself reach out to them, they fade into the hungry light, whispering a name once mine, become the stark and starving night.
It reads like a soft elegy for the versions of you that had to fade so the deeper one could breathe. Beautiful, haunting work!!!
It's weird when you read something in one place that connects so well to other areas of your life. I am currently watching the highly acclaimed German show on Netflix called "Dark." Your first stanza encapsulates the whole show. Given its acclaim, and my connection of your work to it, I think that's a major win for the artist. Tune up the violin and keep on pluckin'.