Dear ghost,
sometimes I hold
out my palm, to view
its emptiness.
Sometimes I want
to follow you beyond
the city, to remove
the shard of glass from your eye.
Sometimes you come flooding
back over me, formless.
I hold up my silence, a beacon.
Dear ghost,
sometimes I hold
out my palm, to view
its emptiness.
Sometimes I want
to follow you beyond
the city, to remove
the shard of glass from your eye.
Sometimes you come flooding
back over me, formless.
I hold up my silence, a beacon.