I hear them, answering my speculations,

Voices mumbling my indiscretions,

Who are they?

How do they know my secrets?

Moving with me,

They talk in their own covert way, swaying from side to side.

They angle their bodies to face me.

Mimicking my body language,

What do they want?

They appear to be quite helpful,

Generous enough to satisfy my questions,

They raise their heads up,

Experience the cold air,

And once they complete their objective,

They are gone.

Ghosts of the wind.