I am a ghost.
On translucent soles
I navigate
the slick city streets,
Afraid of falling.
The mist
Creeps in from Ran’s wide road,
Muffling sounds of
mid-week hustle.
I grind my feet
Against the asphalt,
Finding purchase,
Mincing steps for fear that
in my heedlessness
I’ll slip,
And for a moment, suspended,
unbreathing,
contemplate the abyss.
I step
carefully around the leaves
That from some distant tree
have found their way downtown,
to lie in wait of some
Poor reckless soul,
Unwary,
Who might rest their weight
a moment
on such fickle footing.
The fog
Provokes no quiet wonder
In the shoppers or the corporate crowds
All headed somewhere dry
Well-lit
With colours false and vibrant
Each voice too loud,
Insistent
As the hush rolls in.
Their steps are heavy; solid
and unflinching
on wet concrete.
I am a ghost,
Picked out in black and white.
Through shrouded streets I walk,
My footfalls light
Lest
Misstepping
I tumble through the world.