Confess, Reflect

Fleeting,
I would describe that ghost as flitting across a screen.
A shadow by all means, but a
Person, certainly;

I could not surmise what end
They would meet,
Should the door be opened,
The veil unveiled,
The screws loosed,
Prying a board from its floor,

Only to reveal a stained-glass window,
From which appears a depiction of 
Jesus, or some other saintly face
Bright enough to illuminate
My rights and wrongs.

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