Ghost in You

There is a place I go in my dreams.
Emerald grass dances in the wind
and tall, skinny pines lay tucked for miles
among the loam.
I am uneasy in this place,
as if I am an intruder
and whatever lies among the trees
knows I am here.
Still I walk,
from one point to the next
feeling that even though I am moving,
I am standing in place.
The air is stale despite the cool wind.
What is it that keeps pushing me forward
and what is it
that begs me to stay put?


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