Nocturnal Spirits

Discarded clothes come out at night,

they roam around in cold rooms,

wearing the words of their owners,

they love, they hate, they scream,

they go back to sleep before the rising racket.

Clothes are our spirits pent up in the dark, in forgetfulness.

In the sleeplessness emanating from our staring at the ceilings,

in the footsteps, heaped at the thresholds of  homes like

autumn leaves banished from love.

Clothes, the troves of  longing for a time that won’t return,

and songs that can’t be forgotten.

Don’t leave the closet open at night,

your old tormented souls have to rest in peace.