penumbras

the shadow people sit on their porch

heedless of the season’s temperament.

their murmurings drift down

to me like a spell,

like the snatches of a song pouring from the window of a passing car.

like Hades’ shades, I know them

only in suggestive outlines

and the clouds of smoke

that burn their lungs and tickle mine.

all that they are is stolen

by airborne Lethe,

in the brief moment it takes

for me to behold them.

it used to seem cold to me,

their lonely vigil.

now, I think their spectral silhouettes are better

than the ghosts on my balcony.