Old ghosts,

Old ghosts,

Languorous whispers

Floating in a slow breeze

Lightly brushing

The shadows from

A darkened mood

Hair follicles react

To a small variation

In the passage

Of disturbed air

As breathing quickens

Nothing changes but the outlook

Fleeting glimpses

Of a familiar smile

Reflected in acute

Recollections of another day

Raise the temperature

Make a cold snap

More comfortable

Goosebumps serve

A different purpose

When the mind wanders

Into a cloud of indecision

Hesitation loses touch

With the moment

The spirit of change

A swirl of dust motes

Dispersed

Into a barley sky

The tail end of a sunset

The dying of a storm

That once was raged

A dystopian tempest

In a state of fugue

Barely registered as an event

Between one incomplete

Cognition and the next

Essence of imagined promise

Lubricates lost threads

Rusted pathways

Are receptive to

The subtleties of difference

The dream is never over

When reality is a show reel

Sequential perception

Segmented and preserved

As imperfect dioramas

Subject to vagaries

In attention

When we have the mind

To be so easily distracted

By the fluctuations

Of a ghost wind.