Silhouettes

Ancient bodies rustle along the floor. Heads turn and mouths whisper As they capture the swaying movements, And embed them in their memories. The dark silhouettes move in the night-time. "Where have you been?" Say the whispering souls. The answer is meaningless, Worth nothing to the hungry spirits. The figures move on, To dance on the roof-tops. Their toes wet with dew And sliding on moss. They collect around one shape. Her shape is hair, Blowing in the wind, And she ask: "Where have you been?"