they tell me not to speak to ghosts but they aren’t the ones who wake in the morning to the pictures turned back from the wall and the letters all scattered and opened blank inside but always with the promise of words so that fool as I am I hold them to the light so sure to find the hidden message the secret code spelled out in Bible verse numbers or zeros and ones but spectral fingers left no prints and movement at the edge of my vision is just curtains rippling in the wind

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