Ghosts

I think a poem/day will be all I can muster.

Ghosts, slipping
treelike through forests
populated by people
looking just like they
once did. Slowly
dissolving, windborne
gossamer, 'til people
look through them.
Haunting not others,
but themselves with
each mirror-ward glance.
Remembering when
they treated ghosts
similarly, in
youthful vibrancy.

13/100