(Untitled)

[bonebleached]

touching a ghost

my ghost flew toward you
after stepping off the porch

natural, familiar
a phantom reach--

and it's wrong
that i'll dream about you again

that sorrow you feel, listening to familiarities
a voice, a song,
and when i sing i envoke our memories

which is all i have
at times:
a feeling at my fingertips

"'well you're magic,' he

Comments

[born_of_words]

i always want to know the who in your poems, i wonder if i've EVER had a moment in the ambigious who spotlight and not known it.

i know, i know, a magician never tells his tricks.

(see you, soon.)

[bonebleached]

You have in fact. But I won't tell you when.

Otherwise, the tricks are still mine.