Ghosts

A field of silence
Plumes of smoke rise, only to fall again
One rises above the mass of fog
The rest fall to the ground almost as in deference

The air is clear, but thick enough to cut
The tombstones stand like monoliths
The names meaning nothing
They are the last connections

A bell tolls in the night
Signifying the passage of
Another person into
The dark nameless space

As if in response to the bell
The smoke starts fluttering
Giving the image of some
Long dead butterflies rising once again

They flutter until the
Next bell chimes
Then they sink silently down
Until one is left standing

They bow in deference
To the winner of some unknown contest
Then they recede into the ground
As the sun breaks over the old stone monoliths