A Ghost I

Writing this while entities, ghosts are present -- Not able or willing to make themselves appear. How could I know? You might, rightfully, augment. I've always been able to sense when they're near. But, alas -- time after time, there is nothing there. I said, "they're," a lie -- you knew I meant "she," Didn't you? Why would I otherwise be so concerned? At the peripheral of vision, mad treetops shake free. In those shuckling movements, the wisp is returned. The room I light, windows sealed, mirrors all turned. I call friends and toast a garlic grilled cheese on rye. There are occasional pests of undetermined colors Scurrying to escape my wrath and condemning eye; And, a sulfuric, rotten egg odor like old car mufflers. I want to leave; but, am wary of moonlight shufflers. On the roof it is peaceful, quiet. I am alone -- for now.... It is frustrating to not be certain if a person is tethered Or crossed over -- a condition not only does death endow. A face flashes. The phone rings. Her page is weathered. Too few glimpses, hearsay, rumors -- I am surrendered.