you’re the leaves that foxtrot
with the tatters of a plastic bag
in the blustery corner of my deserted courtyard
become young again
twirled by the world-weary wind
that still remembers how to dance
leaves become
same colour
as the fire
that made them fall
songs soft as September
whispers through the grass
my hand a sparrow
dreaming in the bowl
of your palm
the white of a waterfall
the moon hiding half its face
lamps wore away
at the dark
I see you
the suits of shadows
lined with gold
we breathe in
the dark of each other
there is another show
long after
the main event
the cacophony of clowns
become stroked cymbals
the trapeze artist
tiptoes over the camber
of the milky way
suspended in a puddle
the human cannonball
curls like a cat into its crater
dreams of petri dishes
blooming with flowers
the sword swallower
lets the hilt lay in their hand
for a little while
before laying the blade
amongst the blades of grass
starlight soaks into the steel
the juggler
stands the pins before the fire
their faceless faces watch
the feathers of flames
smudges tears over shy smiles
the contortionist
hugs their knees
unwinds a story into the pool
of their shadow
the fire breather
feels the smoke
feeling its way
through the dark of their body
fingers soft as silk
in the morning
just the footprint of the fire
where god
stubbed out their cigar
or
where an elephant
bruised the earth
balancing upon one foot
its trunk
held onto air
ghosts aren’t only
what has been
they’re also
what never happened
echo of songs
never sung
never listened to
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
lost
what I’ve not even
found
don’t know how
to write about you anymore
I’ll let silence sing
daylight crashes
against the skylight
woodsmoke laces the air
with the cream
of its song