Chasing a paper boat downstream in the summer twilight.

I saw the ghost again today.
Floating cooly on the landing.
Almost, it seemed, wating for me to notice him.
His pale halogen face followed me silently as I keyed the door and started down the staircase.
Christmasses past and Beetlejuice were all wrong.
It has no message and it’s means need no end.
A quiet watchman. Seeing and not observing.
A cold wind from my past; reminding me of days to come.

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