National Poetry Month Day Twenty-four

word group: garden--voices--silver--leaves

The midnight garden
drenched in silver light
is home to ghosts
thin as tissue paper
but their voices
bold
brash
bounce off the leaves
echo against tree trunks
upright
or stretched across the path
barricading the way.
You climb over
the cylinders of rough bark
trying to grasp
the ghosts-
like old love
they slip away
quicksilver and without substance.

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