A ghost enters the room
but no one notices
The grey, impenetrable swell of human conversation
rises, falls and rises,
and the faint smell of something supernatural
dissipates
In the mirror it is as if nothing happened
except smoke:
no collateral damage
Out on the marsh
the tide turns in an instant
like the flicker of a switch
And everything changes:
the dead creek fills with life
springing inwards
lifting spirits
Flooding empty space:
the ghost, exhausted by the atmosphere,
crawls into a disconnected pool
and waits
>Written on holiday at Blakeney