daily poem/ Woodpeckers and Ghosts

The sound of triumphant
woodpeckers, against my wood
siding. Slipping unseen
into house walls, nesting
open to the outside or perhaps
it's as Matisse says, there are
no walls.

I wake to slippery, black
shadows on the edges
of rooms. Can they walk
through the still molecules?
Their light bodies are
made for darting, able to slow
to our time. Perhaps,
a wish granted or sadness
summons them.

They migrate, toward us
and away; mysterious,
random passages.
To see our grief from
perfect peace, from the
other side of a smeared
glass window, maybe, with
curiosity or sad concern.

Sometimes, I choose
to be comforted by
the mysteries of shadow.
To know darkness
can be like birds; seen
for a moment,
then a beautiful flight
through walls.