And there are still ghosts in some of our churches
wandering from the graveyard, passing through walls
sliding quietly into the pews, moving over
out of habit, silence surrounding.
And while they wonder where we are –
down at the bingo hall, women adjust
their lipstick, and men tuck in their shirts
and everyone listens
as “G9!” is called.
And back at the church the motion detector trips,
moved by the wind, a signal
for the ghosts
to their beds
at the graveyard.
Poetry and Image © Copyright 2016, ancient skies
Peace and blessings to everyone.
“When we love people, we give them hope.”