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
bounce off the leaves
echo against tree trunks
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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