for there are quiet ghosts afoot
who walk aside our mouths
and breathe the air we expel easily
with love, in and out.
they smooth our hair,
marvel at our shiny nails
the thud of our feet on concrete
the tiny blast of air in exhales.
for breathing is their preoccupation
breath- the ghosts of the living
where our souls enter and exit ceaselessly
until they day that life stops giving.
they think to kiss our lips
and come back to ticking clocks
but nothing brings them body or mind
for there is nothing that death cannot stop.
but love! the audience cries.
what about love, you forget!
they cannot see my tears-
i have not cried them yet.
for i hold all my sorrows
like jewels for the crown
if love survives this place
i will gladly weep, and drown.