did I see a ghost
in this cave?
perhaps it is just a shadow
from some lingering fire  
that caught my eye, chilled my spine  
it made no sound, but smelled
like wet winter leaves

some claim
to see Jesus in toast  
why can’t I then,
see a ghost
holy or not, sifting sublimely
through the dank air  
silently screaming for justice  
for crimes of the heart
we wakeful walkers  
obliviously commit  
  
did I see a ghost
in this cavern
where flesh still stings  
from the flash of the first sun,
or is it just a shadow
I have not yet cast?