Ghosts: poem

You say you believe

people pass

from one parallel universe

to the next

like ghosts

 

Like steam on glass

turning into condensation

and running into droplets

 

You say the story about

the fallen head of a king

could be true

You’re open to that sort of stuff

 

And I wonder if it’s you

If it’s you who’s passing through

and that’s why as  I call your name

you look confused; because

you don’t know if it’s me

 

 

Em Humble
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