when I am speaking to ghosts
I prefer to be walking in the woods
and I prefer it to be in winter,
snow crunching beneath my boots
as I carry on the one-sided conversation
reliving with the dead
words that cannot be resurrected
arguments that cannot ever be won
I stand next to the frozen stream
knowing the ice is not thick enough to hold me
and I tell the ghosts enough for now!
and sometimes
sometimes
the wind takes them then
and I am left with only the white
white earth.
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