I get up early for the silence outside
To hear the murmurs inside my head,
The strange quiet language just after sleep
That speaks of shadow things,
The wisp and gossamer trailing of thought
Fragile as mist.
They exist only in the early quiet
Floating through for an instant,
Skittish as tiny fish.
The slightest sound frightens them.
They wink out like soap bubbles
Leaving behind only enough
To let you know you missed some bright nymph,
Or the answer to something
You’ve been wondering about.
They are a ghost lover’s gentle caress
Leaving you wondering if it was just the wind?
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