you speak in song
sing to the robin
about how your heart
rusted red

silhouettes pirouette
with the shadows
of marionettes

a gate
spills the garden
into the street

just before the kiss
push me back into the world
like ghosts do
when the living get too close
the scent of skin
too much

they push away
because they long too much
for what they’ve lost
they want you too stay
in the world

you because
you don’t want to hold
what will be lost

daylight crashes
against the skylight
woodsmoke laces the air
with the cream
of its song

my favourite bit
when you appeared
around the bend
at the end of my street
come to meet me
the ghost of gold
on an autumn night
stitched together
with neon thread
your black dress
splashed by the sirens
from the cries of the city
your red heels
sparked the sealskin
of the pavement
drains choked with fire

ghosts aren’t only
what has been
they’re also
what never happened

echo of songs
never sung
never listened to