Walking back from High Falls
Quiet sang in the woods
Opposite the abandoned Philmont mill
Dusk swooned over the western ridge
The sun was fare-welling day
With a final offering a glow of neon orange.
In my sixty-nine years I have seen over twenty-thousand sunsets
Many of them alone
But not tonight.
A spectral figure passed between two trees.
A luminescent creature from the far-beyond.
They disappeared as fast as they appeared.
The Living mean nothing to the Dead.
And the Dead meant nothing to Me,
Unless they are family and friend,
Because those ghosts never died for me.