More old poetry of mine: Ghosts

It was not  so long ago
you asked
how a ghost is born

I said it’s bred
in ignorance
and all the things
we mourn

it grows in magic
and in loss
shelters the things
we’ve torn

what more can I
tell you about
how a ghost is born

You once asked
if these were my ghosts
and I told you no

I used to live with them
a while
in an abandoned studio

I spent many late nights
with them
creating picture shows

Much like anybody else
ghosts need some place
to go

You asked what these
ghosts want from us
they envy our skin

They want to reconnect
with all the things
that they might have been

When I am not
so holy
I bid them enter in

As familiar as
a melody
as constant as a twin

But now these ghosts
cling to us
as if we were their lovers

They rummage
through our closets
and hide under our covers

They’re in our mouths
and in our hearts
how oppressively they hover

But despite such close proximity
we do not recognize
each other