York in Poetry: Walking with Ghosts

Posted on 24 November 2012 | Poem

When night breaks on towers and seeps between walls
and dim light cowers beneath open doors,
a familiar murmur hangs in the air;
a shifting crowd with one voice raised
spilling tales into the dark moment:
tales re-told through the circle of seasons,
centuries of stories, threaded and twisted,
looping listeners, drawing closer, tighter.

You sit at your window, eyes closed, drift
into spectral space of suspended breath
and words where ghosts leave only footprints
to haunt your hourglass sands and shades.

But laughter leaves your thoughts upended,
lost, breaks the spell and shifts
the balance. Feet clatter on cobbles
and conversations chatter away.

Then, when all are gone, you turn, missing the ghosts
reclaiming their towers, walls, conspiracies of night.

- Oz Hardwick