I am a ghost of my former self
Thin as will o the wisp, the fog in London
I feel people rush by, their touch alien.
They see me; they make no sign
They’re busy walking to nowhere
Leaving nothing behind
Life in an air bubble
Pop a few; the world feels buoyant.
I hear the sigh of relief as it breathes
At the altar of death, they leave flowers, messages of love.
Tell me where the heart is when they are brushed aside too soon?
Their handwritten messages floating in rain-filled puddles.
Where is the love to pull me back?
© Anita Dawes 2021