It was cloudy.
Walking, I turned around just slowly enough
for someone to have to the chance to
tap me on the shoulder.
I imagined that it was the clouds
pretending to be ghosts
the ghosts that I haven't dreamt of
for so long that
they are nothing but small aches
in my feet when I first wake up,
when I reach for the dial on the stove,
when I turn my neck in the wrong direction.
They are single ashes that were dropped
on the way to being buried.
I wonder when they find their way
back home, too.
I couldn't look behind me for fear
that I'd disappear in the haze.