How many faces are in a crowd?

Do they look at me?

They are so solemn, so quiet, so still.

They could be real, they could be ghosts,

Conjured from the past.

The fist thump, bump of my heart

As I see your eyes, glinting

Back at me,

Deep in my dream, hundreds

Turn to thousands.

Heads multiply like cells

Mitosis and myosis?

I don’t know if you are real

Imagined

Ectoplasm

Ethereal

But you scare me.