Every story is
a ghost story
in the end.
Her shawl blows
about bare shoulders –
a phantom dance
on the wind.
Footprints in the sand.
Her shadow sways and bends.
A rare desire closing in –
half of this world,
half of the next.
Not quite old,
no longer young,
we’re watching our children.
We chose their names
from strange newborn faces
and now borrow their clothes.
And it’s everything I know.
In the space between,
our inversions
ascend and recede.
These apparitions
embodying this history
dissipate to be remade
anew this evening.
I’ve learned your forms
and points of transition:
Solidified or vanishing in
Sublimation.
Your slightest turn
encouraging me to keep up.
Steps ahead,
a vision, as your lips part.
You’re everything I know of love.
You are and will be everything
that I know
of love.
Everything that I know of love.
You are and will be everything
that I know of love.
You are and will be everything
that I know of love.
You are and will be everything
that I know of love.
© 2019.