Ghosts of Dusk

Layers of mist spread
slowly through the
valleys tinged with green.
Dew begins to form
on drooping foxgloves
and on stalks of rushes
and hawthorn bushes
darkening into spirits
swaying in the night
tristfully reviving
haunting memories.
By Richard F. Fleck


(In memory of Edward McMahon)

*This poem originally appeared in Paintbrush:
a journal of poetry and translation.