Ghost Shift

Refusing to go
is the only thing that feels like love.

Rain hits my face.
Cold and relentless.
I stand in it and breathe.

Coffee warms my hands.
A small defiance against the hour.
In empty streets I find my footing.

Grey skies are weeping.
I let them fall on my upturned face.
It's not peace exactly.
It's just the absence of running.

I wrap the quiet around me.
I take one step.

The city wakes around my silence.
I am a ghost haunting my own life.
The bakery opens beneath me.
Bread smell rises like something trying.

But I stay.
I face the dawn.

--Vera