Ghost Songs
By Barry Green

I hear ghosts

playing cello and viola,

singing their sight away.

The song ends.  Their eyes

become dried craters.

They smell the moon and

stars touch iridescent circles

on their arms.

Sunlight speaks to them across

the arc of a rainbow.

Shadows reach for their tongues

leaving salty tastes where

lights once glowed.

When dusk enters hollow places

the ghosts’ eyes take root and sprout

new springtime leaves.

String instruments are removed

from their cases.

Tonight, a serenade.

Sad songs of love.