held together
by threadbare threads
my frayed feathers
stroke the sky
from the ground
ghosts aren’t only
what has been
they’re also
what never happened
echo of songs
never sung
never listened to
I like how the last of the light
lingers in the tree outside my window
clings to all its small leaves
clinging to the branches
a tree shakes off
a torrent of rain
dipped its head
in the sky
the seabed still remembers
sunlight upon its skin
I won’t speak to you again
I will still sing to you
songs white as whispers
same frequency as ghosts
dandelions
became sunflowers
heads bowed
by the weight
of their manes
a blizzard of butterflies
my sight sand-blasted
I see deserts
stared at by the sun
for too long
oceans of slow glass
a sea of seals
diving into each other’s
molten bodies
curtains need the breeze
to touch the room
a little more
silhouettes pirouette
with the shadows
of marionettes
light a candle
with me
all night
we’ll watch
the lowering
of the flag
of its flame
the scars from our dreams
sew us together
you were the wren
that led me
through the reeds
that stroked my sides
feathered my face