When We Are Ghosts

When we are ghosts
we will float gentle as light
through panes of glass
and slip into bottles of wine
or perfume and wait to be
poured out. That will be like
being born again or at least
remembered and we will
laugh for many years.

When we are ghosts
we will hide in the cold fireplace
through spring and summer
until the sky turns the color
of a dove’s wing and the trees
call back water to their trunks.
Then when the logs are lit
we’ll make the flames burn gold
and blue and dance into the ashes
of morning.

When we are ghosts
we will pose briefly in the smile
of every dog and wait
to be photographed and alight
in the face of every flower.
No one will recognize us
but we will not be sad, only
wishing forever for the kindness
of sleep.

J. Kyle Kimberlin
9.25.2017

Creative Commons Licensed

 

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2 thoughts on “When We Are Ghosts

  1. Thanks, Billie! It’s a struggle these days to get my mind to quit jabbering about the trumpocalypse, like a cymbal-banging wind-up monkey, and focus on art. But I have to try.

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