Ghost Lace

I could not see her face, She was completely ensconced, Head to foot in silky white, Rose-adorned chantilly lace. The lace was light and airy lit up and shining from within, As if her wandering soul Were a star, a lost cometary. She moved across the room As if familiar with its shape, Paused before the fireplace, Smoky tendrils curling around her like a plume. She turned away, ghost lace flowing, Then vanished leaving only the faintest trace Of a lingering delicate perfume, And the antique window drapes blowing. For: Ghost Lace Poetry Contest Sponsor: Chantelle Anne Cooke Date: October 12, 2021