Two Ghosts

Two ghosts linger by me
Each pulls in a different direction
One to the past, one to the end
One is cool and soft, soft quiet like new snow
Just a sigh left to give
The other travels a hard path,
sharp stones in my shoes, stumbles in the dark,
keys, faces, moments—a river of loss runs from a hole in my never-empty pocket
Stillness not a choice
Which hand to take?