A Poem for Old Ghosts as a Testament to What is Left Behind

how we call a thing home only to

witness it’s [  ]—a pity. i am young,

i vacate my body where there is something to bleed after me.

do you see i’m trying my name on everything that won’t spit me out?

do you see that me leaving did not start on these pages?

maybe no one was meant to breathe that way—

like how we did it.

the penance is: love eludes rocks.

i stare into my palms to imagine the wreck, the

portrait of a dot dimming into this body.

i stare into my palms to outshine the night, or

anything that exalts the moon.

today is not yet a memory, and no

body of water will have my child.

all i want is the theme of birds telling of

creatures i lose to my coward teeth.

i gave you up in the belly between silence & not dreaming.

or on the day i moved seas from under your feet into sand.

i did not know how to say a word that

was older than my tongue, so i watched light dim,

& wrote it as my first poem.

i now think of houses in the way they shift into memories.

i never sing for long without praying to carry

a wish by a poet’s song.

in mirrors, we often look like the things that betray us.

& on days, there is a whole world passing us by,

but we only give in to a trilogy of thirst.

i do not think anyone wants to stray this far:

that is smaller planets, that is fewer rooms, that is the lyric of

two little children crawling on a wall.

these days i bump fists with people, but it ends.

you can guess the structure of a shadow

by the way you bend with yours.

summer, i have sat for two lives soothing this savage eyes.

i won multiple horse races to bring home lilac.

life was whispering. & life still sits between us.

it is something that the day comes with things to throw away.

it is because a shadow takes the body of wind & stone, & wind.

one day my heart will be displayed in a museum, near a ring or a fire.

this book that was lost to me will sing.

What are you looking for?