Eleventh of December #2

Small spooks feel
the pace a little
stronger than the
quarter-sized.
Whistle all you like.
Follow the same
well-worn paths.
Things will remain
elusive to you.
Greater things.
Somewhere –
in the middle distance.
Shake-off the trappings.
Those shrill songs,
maddening in their monotony.
Lay down with the moon.
Turn back and walk,
away from the fray.
Into the shards of
tomorrow and the day.