a tree shakes off
a torrent of rain
dipped its head
in the sky
ghosts aren’t only
what has been
they’re also
what never happened
echo of songs
never sung
never listened to
heart a grate
full with ash
carried out
to the garden
on a warm
windy night
your flame throws bird shadows
over the walls of my heart
that have never known sky
light soaked into
a longed-for letter
never sent
never written
the white of a waterfall
the moon hiding half its face
caves will call
to the sky
sky will become
ceiling
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
you were the wren
that led me
through the reeds
that stroked my sides
feathered my face
I think of the shadows we could have created
floorboards laid together
the seams of dark between us
thick with spilled stars
songs soft as September
whispers through the grass
the seabed still remembers
sunlight upon its skin
rooms lit by storms
and midnight snow
a draft drifts
through your fingers
fields of grass
tickles your palms
muzzle of a dog
wet for a walk
dandelions detonate
within your dreams
sky wakes you
sings through
the letterbox