Ghosts of Black Harbor


Strange sounds

in strange places.

Hauntings that echo

through time.

Pleading calls

beg the resurrection,

the final judgement

of our kind.

White waves

batter the rocks

in rhythm

with the heartbeat

of our mourning sea.

The shoreline,

remains indifferent,

its granite form


From the dark stillness

of a black cove,

the old, white church

stands out for miles,

like the apparition

of a lonely bride,

a revenant

of a simpler time.

When there were

less lights

moving in the darkness,

and fewer noises in the night.

The fog rolls in

to take away our vision,

but it does not

strike us blind.

Something moves

around us, here.

A creaking stair,

a disembodied sigh,

that stretches back

along the coast

to another time.

To remind us

where we come from,

remind us

who we’ve been,

before our ghosts


with the tide




DJR – 2023

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