From the evening window,
The moths depart from piles
Of crumbled ashes;
The dust leaves behind a trail
Leading me to fall into a dream infused
With faded ghosts and tranquil shadows.
I watch and listen to the somber
Symphony of tickling whispers,
And awaken to a moth stuck on the ledge
Waiting for me to sing it back to safety.
Can nature be haunted too,
Or just the places most sacred to us?