The shadows are a part of this I think, not like others formed by natural light of day.
Does the moon hold mastery over them? Is it some trick that goblins play from waiting graves?


Just like those shadows, she's not here with them, when colors show and life includes this place of souls.
Day casts lines and detail to the edges. It bares the shapes for me to know of their intent.


Sharply chiseled names and dates in headstones. Reminders of abandoned lives they mark below.
Now in night, the rules are circumstantial. Cringing edges twist with my imagination.


They craft to fit my mood and frighten me. Why is it only in the night I feel her call?
These shadows cast by moon are shy and cold, moving slightly out of time in their dimension.


I stretch my hand, its shadow touching graves. Too fast it links me to the other things unseen.
Does daylight hide the spirits from my sight? Perhaps it's just a time when they are someplace else.


I put flowers at her grave in daylight. Lying on the grass I spread my arms to hold her.
Even when I wept I could not sense her. So I've come to search in this unearthly darkness.


The screeching of the graveyard gate has teeth. It tries to menace me and conjure fearful thoughts.
It scrapes along my skin and taunts at me. Its voice is sharp but does not call from in the yard.


Within, sounds mute and mingle with the dark, to blend with other twisted senses fed by fear.
They obey the rules that come with darkness. Sounds with same soft edging as the prowling shadows.


Am I a fool to seek her past her death? To search for truths and answers that she hid so well?
I thought to follow her with hemlock once. What made her choose to steal her life away from me?


She suffered so until she joined the dead. That memory fresh, still wrenches guilt within me.
It grips my dreams and dominates my sleep. I hear screams and wake afraid to listen for her.


I fear that she is calling out to me. Is it the maddening taunt of recent memory?
Solace--a wisp of air that brushes me, or scent of her perfume at night when I'm alone.


They make me turn to look at no one there. I search for her and face the shadows, face my fear.
Things moving at the corners of my eyes. They will not wait in stillness to be recognized.


This cannot be the resting ground of souls. For on this night there is no rest for her nor me.
Before her grave I watch the shadows move. They stare at me and watching back I will not blink.


Silent footsteps do not hide me from them. They know it's me and prickle on my skin unseen.
They taunt me, teasing hairs along my neck. Even as they do, her spirit beckons to me.


Things known by day have color stripped away. Now all I see are somber rainbow shades of grey.
I lie upon her grave in my remorse. A spark within me flushes warm, then fades away.


When gone, it leaves me neither warm nor cold. I rise and leave my body lying there alone.
Its eyes are open but they do not see. Somehow I'm still a part of it, yet also free.


In spirit form I see the shadows now. They coat the backs of things, waiting for the moonlight.
In somber mood they glide across the ground. They move like grayish velvet shrouds that mimic death.


With twisted form they plague the things they touch. Intent to parody the things they emulate.
A fox treads past with wary ginger steps. It flicks its ears and finds its way between the stones.


A moon-born shadow flows and clings to it. Now with the vixen paws there trots a wraith of grey.
They pass as if I wasn't really here. The fox has disappeared, uneasy with this place.


Glistening at my side stands Genevieve. No shadows rush to us to cast our placid forms.
I thought of how in love I'd feel again. To meet with her once more would ease my anguished heart.


But feelings in this meeting puzzle me. I have my thoughts yet do not feel my passion grow.
Still on her grave my body waits in rest. Perhaps it is that form in which romance is bound?


She glides ahead. I did not see her walk. She did not beckon me to follow, but I do.
This world of hers does puzzle and confuse. Like pictures shown on dirty window glass, things move.


Strange panes of imagery that sweep near us. Things past that stir from thoughts and memories perhaps?
She waves a hand and freezes one of them. In the grayness of the scene we step together.


Is this some place of mist and memory? I see the forms of things I touch but pass through them.
Is this the café where we always met? We were so young and still could claim youth's innocence.


In this, our special place, we crafted dreams. Souls as mates with hopes that overlapped to bind us.
Stark feelings to me now, but they're still there. Within this veil of life's dimension they still live.


A couple builds them now where we once sat. I recognize the looks that weave from eye-to-eye.
I reached my hand to grasp the young man's arm. How strange that I might feel his thoughts but not his flesh.


In some small way he felt my presence there. He brushed the spot upon his sleeve that I had touched.
Why does she show me these remembered scenes? From this place we moved to look upon another.


A world of life we viewed from hers of death. A world no longer filled with happiness for me.
I miss the little things we loved to do. Why did she choose to end her life and run away?


As if she knew my thoughts, she took me there. Close enough to try to understand at least. The people sat. 
They had no dreams or hope.  Unearthly shadows lurked in ugly sullenness.


They did not cast themselves across the floor, attached to foot or arm of those they traveled with.
Knotted twists of vile black apparition. Fed by their hosts they oozed from lumps in lung or breast.


Outside the ghastly healers shop she walked.  She clutched my picture in her hand and wiped her tears.
I watched her buy the hemlock in this form. I felt her eyes seek mine and pull my gaze to her.


Yes sadness filled her gaze, but there was more. A smile beneath her soulful eyes this one last time.
I understood, but could I let her go? I had no choice, for with that thought, I saw it come.


The whiteness of it overwhelmed my heart. Into the light she stepped and left me there alone.
I stood again before my earthly form. Did I have a chance to stay or follow with her?


Perhaps I did not choose or thought too slow. I woke to see the sunlight bring the dew to life.
The feelings that were gone reclaimed my soul. Upon her grave I cried and finally let her go.