Pareidolia (Faces in the Mountains)

If ghosts exist, every place is haunted.

Standing in a frozen creek,
magnet fishing and making more
matrix memories for which
I am thankful beyond heaven.

Thinking of which, I look up
see faces in the mountains and clouds,
hear songs in the stream
and the breeze between trees.

I am stunned by the beauty of this place
as well as the difference from where I come:
New York City and Florida
where an empty train track is a dream.

The moose are near
and I count them and the distance;
this is the earth,
this is Heaven.

I am unqualified
to appreciate my feet on these cold rocks,
loyal to the nightmare of my choice,
a pirate traveling and stealing moments.

From prior lives
where people and animals played,
surely their spirits have stayed.