
Enveloped in twilight mist
they are known only to him
and even then, they are just the outlines,
blurred between hazy sheets
of day and night
men and women
keep the closest truths buried
for truth changes with light
and years, and shifting seasons
eyes cannot be trusted—
age obscures vision
but only that of the eye
and the heart grows mellow,
forgives, breathes tenderness
into hardened arteries, blood flows
slowly where there was
frozen pain
unspoken frailties and acts
pushed into dark corners and hidden realms
he now knows to forget
© Neetu Malik

mist fills the night—
there are no ghosts, just my self
and me in mellow light
I pause only to listen
to rustling in the trees, where
secrets like my own
might be guarded mystery
it’s not for me to know what
theirs might be,
but a comfort to feel
a kindred familiarity
© Neetu Malik
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While he’s haunting Miss Fenwick, Miss Fenwick haunts him.
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