scarred skin
doesn’t collapse
when carved
the susurrus
of your lost
long song
the smoke
of my soul
the horizon howled
snow swept the streets
ghosts aren’t only
what has been
they’re also
what never happened
echo of songs
never sung
never listened to
bells hold onto
all the peals struck
from the dark
of their bodies
a forever home for shadows
hung in the wind
that whips whispers
from their stillness
the cry of church bells
across the city
serpents of scent
wrapped round your wrists
caves will call
to the sky
sky will become
ceiling
glass the gatekeeper
asks the sky
if they’re on the list
light a candle
with me
all night
we’ll watch
the lowering
of the flag
of its flame
you’re the last light of the year
the late light of the day
that touches the old fire
that still clings to the tips of the trees
in my haunted park
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
the white of a waterfall
the moon hiding half its face
where you try to excavate
your encrypted heart
I wanted to touch the scars
upon your clawed at chest
curtains wait for a breeze
so they can breathe again