bony specters rose

up from smoldering splintered coffins

made of black ancient wood.

specters gray, shimmering with

shrouded faces, misshapen heads,

soundless in the wispy mists.

thick dull bleary-edged apparitions

floating listlessly through swirling

spaces in the swelling smoking night.

slick cracked glass specters & me

me alone, pressed helpless against

the cold windowpane, staring

confused & needing to know.

— Michael Estabrook