9.

Ghosts

Heads toward the wall,

Feet toward the street,

With a barrier of boxes

Full of badly painted clay

Mushrooms and model

Churches and pumpkins

With twisted vines. Now

We are ready to sleep.

Exhausted from a day

Of standing at traffic

Lights, we are not woken

By curious couples coming

Home from dinner, or

Garbage men shouting or

The last buses shouldering

Each other out of the way.

If we were, maybe we would

Find it odd that we command

More attention asleep than

Awake. That as shapeless,

Shadowless silhouettes

We are seen more clearly

Than when unmistakably

Highlighted by the blazing sun.