Air
She sets her back against the wind, the sunlight haloing the feathered wing tips. Their fragile strength stretches and spreads across the sky. And who is this ghost bird? I mean ghost angel.
Earth
Three ghosts run down the sandy road. They run faster and then faster until their wings catch the wind and their toes are dragged through the dust until they hang above us, their ectoplasm webbing the sky like clouds.
Water
The river took Johnstown with it. The locomotive, the shredded houses, mothers and children, dogs and chickens, bankers and farmers. All debris. Some say ghost fish pulled people down bank right into the rushing wet rage.
Fire
Blue ghosting travels to the ceiling, leaving behind the pedestrian fire traveling the carpet, the drapes, and the wooden chairs. Watch the ghost flames travel independently. Ghost angel lit by jealousy and sacrifice.
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