The Dream of the Words

If you saw black flecks like sticks
Dart straight through your line of sight,
You’d ask, What the hell was that?
And you’d be right. Would you ask

As well, what it would be like
If all the souls in the world
Saw the same black sticks at night,
Black bones that fly, bones that bite?

Would you ask if they were real
Or in your mind, if they showed
What moves in back of the veil
Your mind pulls up as a shield?

Would you dare to ask if these
Black lines that fly at the light
Could be the last signs ghosts write,
Who long to touch you at night?