Who are they?

Who is this woman?
a fleeting face at the window
and is gone, leaving no dainty footprints
in the ghostly, virgin snow.

Who is this child?
crying my name in the long, slow hours
of fitful sleep, but all I see
are garlands of silent flowers.

Who is this man?
whose shadow follows everywhere
on the highways and byways of my life;
I turn around and there’s no one there.