They whisp, spectres taken form.
Almost seen, they mask themselves
in cloaks and march through a
maze, constrained and floating.
The moon is what they are after.
She’s yellow, they know,
and round, full.
She’s tangible substance
while they float,
while they are ever-hungry,
Life, life they whisper in cracked
If they meet her, they will live.
Three persevere though one
cannot face the light,
and hides in a dark corner
dreaming of the moon.
The others chase,
– but she, intangible,
This one is for all you Pacman fans!